


Casey vs. Redemption

by Skyesurfer12



Series: Redemption Series [1]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Language, M/M, Rating: M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:51:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a man from Casey’s past slips into town, he targets Casey by exploiting his weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

x-

John Casey hated a lot of things. He hated disorder, flailing emotions, idiotic electronic store customers, and indie, pinko, sub-titled foreign films.

As a rule, he also hated it when Chuck was right and he was wrong. And, right now, it was one of those times. 

But worst of all, there was a beaming smile plastered on Chuck’s face, alerting him to the fact that Chuck knew it was one of those times. 

“Chuck’s ready for this, Major. That is all.” Beckman ended the video link before there could be further discussion. Her word was absolute. The General had sided with Chuck and determined he was ready to take ‘a more active role’ in subsequent missions. She had commended Casey for his work with the Intersect, stating that he had made ‘significant progress considering the abysmal starting point’. If she knew the true extent of that significant progress, he would be re-assigned to military escort for icebreakers in the Arctic. 

After the abrupt ending to the conference, Casey glanced down at the lanky man sitting at Castle’s conference table. “Don’t say a word –“

“See? I told you she would agree with me. C’mon Casey,” Chuck pleaded. He stood up from his seat at the long table. “I told you. I can do this. Besides,” Chuck lowered his voice, still grinning, “I’ve had the best show me how.” 

“Don’t even think that sappy crap is going to work on me right now, Bartowski,” Casey growled.

Under previous circumstances, Casey may have used a ‘Chuck is right and Casey is wrong’ incident as an opportunity to brush a little too close to Chuck on the Buy More loading dock, and send him sprawling into the empty boxes.

Or he may have used this as an excuse to punch the geek a little too aggressively during one of their physical training sessions. 

However, that was Before-Chuck-Was-Tolerable, or ‘BC’, as Casey commonly referred to it in his thoughts. That was before the damn nerd needled, pried, pestered and did everything that made Casey angry – until somehow Chuck managed to make Casey hate him less. Chuck dragged Casey through stages of intense dislike, indifference, begrudging respect, and, most frighteningly, liking him. And, finally, there was the stage ‘AC’.

That was After-Chuck-Hijacked-Him, or ‘AC’, as Casey referred to it: the time when Chuck had wormed his way into his life for good. 

And, in an ‘AC’ life, with Chuck beaming at him like an idiot, Casey could only show his displeasure by leveling a stoic glare at him, imagining how he would make Chuck pay for this blatant insubordination later. In other, more flexible, ways, he thought.

Casey could see Chuck almost vibrating with excitement. After months of staying in the car, staying in the van, staying in the limo, or staying in any other mode of transport Chuck found himself relegated to, the General had finally agreed that Chuck had advanced past ‘stay in the car’. He was still an asset, but a well-trained one. 

Casey had made sure of that, and now it was biting him in the ass.

True, Casey worked diligently with the nerd after Walker ran off with Larkin. The kid needed something to take his mind off his heart break, and Casey had accepted that mission. Hell, after all of the time they spent at the shooting range and in Castle training facility, the kid was actually showing some improvement. 

Still as uncoordinated as a blind monkey with a screw driver, but hey, it was progress.

As the training sessions began including late night pizza and beer, it led to other things. The NSA agent could feel himself being drawn in by the young man with a quick grin but raw insecurities: a young man who thawed his icy core with a slow, searing burn. 

It was then Casey decided he didn’t want to see Chuck put in dangerous situations. 

And, now, because ‘Chuck is right and Casey is wrong’, according to the General, that is exactly where he would be placed.

-x-

The Crown Vic was definitely going above the speed limit, Chuck noticed, maneuvering through tight openings and once even passing on the shoulder of the highway. 

“Are you still mad at me?” Chuck peered over at the driver.

The silence was broken only by the hum of the tire treads on the pavement.

“I take that as a yes.”

-x-

“Here, let me. You’re doing it all wrong. Quit squirming.” Casey lightly slapped Chuck’s hands out of the way as he struggled to fix the crease of his tie. The NSA agent stood in front of Chuck, wearing dark gray tailored pants and a light blue dress shirt. His suit jacket was tossed over a chair in the corner of their bedroom.

Chuck watched the large hands move with ease, crossing the ends of the fabric over each other, and in a few moments, the knot was taut and the silken tie lay perfectly straight.

“What are you smirking about, anyway? “ Casey asked. Chuck did not realize his expression had changed while watching Casey’s hands, and he looked up with a wider grin.

“Usually, I only see your hands moving that efficiently when they’re taking off clothes, that’s all.”

“Hmph. Smart ass.” Chuck did catch Casey’s brief smirk though. He was surprised that the smirk became a serious look, while at the same time, the big man slid his hands from the knot of Chuck’s tie, to rest them on his shoulders. Casey’s fingers gripped almost too tightly, ensuring he had Chuck’s full attention.

But, instead of speaking, he eyed Chuck warily with a frown, his jaw tight.

“What? What is it?” Chuck asked, puzzled. He accepted that Casey was a man of few words, but for the life of him he could not understand the meaning behind the look on his face.

“You need to do something for me.”

“Right now?” Chuck smiled broadly and raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m serious, Chuck.” The grip tightened a bit more.

“Okay. Okay. I get it.” He let the smile slowly fade from his face, and his eyes met Casey’s stare.

“I need you to stay close. Follow orders. Don’t question me, or do anything stupid-“

“Hey!”

“-that could get you in trouble or hurt. Got it?”

Chuck nodded and blew out a sigh. He would listen. This was Casey, after all. The man never did anything or said anything unless he had a damn good reason, and right now, the Major wanted cooperation.

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “Got it.”

“Good.” Loosening his grip, Casey’s gaze lingered for a few seconds before he turned to the chair where his jacket laid and shrugged the blazer on. “Let’s move.”

-x-

For what Chuck felt was the thousandth time, Casey reviewed the details of the mission. Chuck thought it was a quick in and out job; Casey thought Chuck was getting too cocky. He wanted to make sure the younger man knew explicitly what the cadence of the mission was this evening, and that meant repeating each step verbatim until Casey was satisfied. 

Casey glimpsed at Chuck from the driver’s seat of the SUV. “Okay, one more time, from the top.”

“You aren’t going to make me go through the whole thi- ow! I guess you are.” Chuck rubbed his arm. The younger man sighed. “The banquet room is immediately to the left from the lobby. At least two other agents will be there disguised as guests. We’re wealthy businessmen with ties to questionable factions of Scorpio, a global network of illegal arms dealers. We are trying to persuade them to sell us weapons. We don’t deal tonight; that would raise suspicion. Tonight, we make them trust us. Piece of cake.”

Casey seethed at the last words out of Chuck’s mouth while watching the road in front of them. When he pulled the SUV into the parking space at the hotel, his hand snaked out and he gripped Chuck’s chin, turning him to meet his eyes. He saw Chuck wince because of the tight grip, but Casey needed to make a point.

“Piece of Cake. Thinking like that will get you killed. Nothing in this business is easy – nothing. And nothing can be taken for granted. I need to know that you understand that.”

With Casey still gripping his jaw, Chuck looked at him warily and gritted out his words. “I get it. I do.”

-x-

They entered the neutral colored, contemporary lobby and made their way to the banquet room. Well healed guests sipped cocktails, and a lone pianist filled the air with sultry tones. Scanning the area, Casey strode ahead, with Chuck a few steps behind him.

The bigger man had an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. He knew the root cause of part of his discomfort: in the next few moments Chuck would need to use his less than adequate skills of deception to play the part of an interested weapons buyer. The nerd was an open book, and Casey had a hunch any arms dealer, blind in one eye, and myopic in the other, would see through his act.

Grabbing Chuck’s elbow, Casey said under his breath, “Just let me do the talking. You nod your head at the right time.”

“Glad Beckman’s decision to get me more involved in missions is working out,” Chuck muttered behind the martini glass raised to his lips.

“You’re not in the van, are you?”

“Point taken. Let’s roll.”

Casey cast his eyes towards two men leaning against the stair banister. Chuck followed his glance, and knew that they were part of the mission tonight. Back-up if the op ‘went in the shitter’ – as Casey had put it so eloquently. The men were nearly as large as Casey, and though the NSA agent had mentioned their names in the SUV, Chuck mentally labeled the other agents as the ‘no-necks’.

When Chuck turned back to find Casey, the man had already moved towards a group of four men locked in an animate conversation, two with their backs to Chuck. 

Curiously, he watched Casey stop, change direction and discretely walk towards a corridor.

-x-

Hot. His face was flushed. That was the first sensation. And then he felt the bile rising in this throat, which he choked down with a hard swallow. At first he thought it was a hallucination; that someone had slipped PCP into his drink and the faces of the past wavering in the shadows were simply a sick illusion. 

But this was real. He was here, in the flesh standing ten yards away, with apparently the same objective as Casey’s team – to make a deal with Scorpio. How the hell had that maniac reappeared? Casey wondered angrily.

The intelligence community knew him as the Benito Colletti. 

Casey knew him as ‘the Butcher.’ The name originated in the method he used to deal with buyers when weapons deals soured. 

And, eight years ago, Casey’s personal vendetta against the man had come to an end, when the Butcher found himself betrayed by an agent posing as a client – Casey. The bloodbath in the warehouse that night was legendary in NSA circles. After a bitter and messy confrontation, Casey and his team had pinned down the Butcher and his goons in a firestorm of bullets.

Casey’s last reliable Intel on the man was that he had been taken to a deep, dark hole. 

The Butcher had taunted him that night.

“You think this is the end of me, don’t you? Don’t fool yourself, agent. When you think it’s safe, that will be me, waiting in the shadows.” Colletti’s eyes were hollow, staring at Casey as he was being hauled away.

The murky details, threats he thought he had long forgotten, seeped up, leaching into his memories. The Butcher was here, tonight, in this hotel. 

“And, when I find you, I will hurt you. I will find your weakness.“ 

-x-

Chuck watched from across the room as Casey spoke, his voice being picked up by his hidden mic. He could hear the order relayed through the receiver he wore: Chuck was to meet the two agents next to the service door down the corridor, away from the guests in the banquet room. 

Why did Casey want him to follow the no-necks? Chuck wondered. He didn’t even get to see the faces of all of the Scorpio members to see if he would flash. But, he remembered Casey’s earlier warning and decided now would not be the time to second guess the big man.

There would be plenty of time for that later.

The young man kept up the pretense, plastering a casual look on his face as he maneuvered through the crowd, and down the hallway. The no-necks were already standing ready by the door, when suddenly Casey appeared by Chuck’s side. 

He ignored the curly-haired man, and regarded the two burly agents.

“Change in plans. Get him out of here.”

It took Chuck a beat to realize he was ‘him’. It took him only one more beat to start a protest.

“But I thought we were-“

Casey didn’t even acknowledge that Chuck had interrupted, and instead turned to the two no-neck agents that had been waiting for them.

“Code Black. Now.” Casey jerked his thumb, pointing at the service door, and turned on his heel quickly. He didn’t need to stick around and make sure the two no-necks would follow orders. He was the Major, after all.

And, with the realization slapping him like a cold mop in the face, Chuck realized he was still the asset.

There were a few things that clued him in. 

For one, as he turned to finish arguing his point to Casey, a black hood was shoved roughly over his head and immediately his vision was blanketed in darkness. For another, he felt iron grips on his forearms, courtesy of the no-necks, and he was half lifted, half pushed out the door. He presumed he was being taken to the safety of the SUV. Logically, Chuck knew the hood and rough treatment during a hasty exit was a precaution – after all, the identity of the Human Intersect had to be protected at all costs – and obviously someone or something that could pose a threat to the Intersect had been I.D.’ed by Casey. But, that was little consolation. In the end, he was the Intersect, not an agent.

As he was being hustled outside, he recognized the metallic grating sound of a vehicle door swinging open, and he was thrust into the back seat.

“Head down.” The voice was gruff, and he felt a large paw pushing his head to the floor mats of the vehicle. Chuck was jostled and tossed as the SUV lurched into gear, accelerating quickly on the two lane road, heading away from the hotel.

-x-

Chuck leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and dejected. His long legs were stretched across the conference table in Castle. The azure tie that had been so carefully knotted earlier was tossed in a pile over his suit jacket on another chair. It had been two hours since he had arrived at Castle, courtesy of the ‘No-Necks Escort Service’, and he was told to wait there until Casey’s return. 

He had almost drifted to sleep when he heard the security door slide open and Casey footsteps on the metal stairs. 

Chuck sat up straight, and swung his legs off of the table. He was immediately wide awake – and wanted answers.

“What happened? Why did I have to leave? Who did you see?” Chuck’s questions were strung together in one breath.

Casey continued down the stairs and rounded the corner to his work area, pulling out a drawer with folders and loose documents. He grabbed one folder and examined it closely, then shoved the drawer closed. Walking over to where Chuck was seated, he studied the face peering up and him, and then raked his fingers lightly through the mess of curls on the younger man’s neck.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, of course I’m okay, but what hap - "

Casey didn’t wait for him to finish the flow of questions he knew was coming.

“Move it then. Time to go.” He started back up the stairs.

Chuck frowned at the back of Casey’s head, and then ran up the stairs after him.

-x-

Surprise, Chuck thought sarcastically. Another silent ride home in the Crown Vic. 

What the hell had gotten Casey so…afraid? He didn’t normally associate ‘afraid’ with ‘Major John-Fucking-Casey’, but right now he was acting spooked – like he had seen a ghost. 

-x-

“It was him.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“Then he saw you. He’ll recognize you. He won’t give up. So, we end the operation here – too risky. The Sao Paulo location is safe.”

“Perhaps there is another way.”

“You said he saw you.”

The man with slick black hair and dark eyes thought for a moment. “Do you still have a mole in the NSA?”

“Yes. There’s always someone on the inside you can buy – for a price,” his partner said, cautiously.

“We need to call in a favor. The deal with Scorpio is no longer the priority. I’ve been a patient man, waiting for the agent to crawl out of the hole he’s been hiding in. I knew our paths would cross eventually.” Raising a brow, he fixed a gaze on his partner. “Let’s not view tonight’s deal with Scorpio as a failure – it opened up a fortuitous opportunity.”

“What is the favor?”

“I need someone to kill me.” 

The man looked at him blankly – he didn’t understand the request. And then, a smile slid across his face when he put the pieces together. 

John Casey would pay – dearly.

-x-

Chuck moved quietly behind Casey’s chair and rested his palms on the larger man’s shoulders. He felt the hardened muscles and ran his fingers softly down that broad back.

Admittedly, this time, he did have an ulterior motive. 

Chuck really wanted to know why Casey was so engrossed in those files he had taken from Castle, and standing behind Casey afforded the perfect chance to find out. 

If, that is, Casey hadn’t snapped the folder closed and swiveled in the chair to face him, ending the chance of Chuck doing some espionage of his own.

Chuck had only caught a glimpse of the faded and dog-eared documents before they were hidden from his view.

Casey stood up, and moving towards him, slid one hand on the back of Chuck’s neck, pulling him in for a surprisingly tender kiss. He placed his other hand on Chuck’s hip and dragged him close, until they touched. 

But the kiss ended quickly. Casey pulled away, with his eyes sweeping across Chuck’s face.

“I have work to do. You should go to bed.”

Frowning, Chuck watched him with a puzzled stare. “Look, Casey, whatever it is, whatever put you on high alert – got you spooked – don’t you think we should talk about it? I thought, you know, we did that now…sometimes...?”

Casey was good at a lot of things, and one of those things was burying emotions deep. And he damn well knew this was the time to keep them there. 

Sitting back down, the NSA agent scooted his chair closer to the desk top, and gazed at the computer monitor. 

“Good night, Chuck.”

-x-

God, it was late. Wearing only a pair of black boxers, Casey slid under the covers, appreciating the warmth that Chuck’s body provided. He shifted up against that lean back, and put his arm over the lanky man’s waist.

“Chuck?” he said, in a low tone.

“Mmph,” Chuck murmured, burying his head deeper into the feather pillow.

“Hey. I need you to do something for me.”

Chuck stretched his legs, and let out a breath. He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder at the larger man, giving him a sleepy, lopsided half-smile.

“Right now?” he mumbled. Then, he saw the serious look on Casey’s face, and realized that they were probably talking about two different things at the moment. The lopsided smile faded. “What is it?” Chuck whispered.

“Need you to lay low for a few days. Can you do that?”

Chuck turned back into his pillow, and closed his eyes. “Yeah… ‘course.”

Casey rolled onto this back, with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He had a seen a ghost tonight, a vision from his past, and it washed his mind with brutal, blood-spattered images; images he thought had been tucked away forever, only to be revived with inexplicable appearance of the Butcher.

Tonight’s mission was a cluster fuck. Not only did it end abruptly without any opportunity to infiltrate the deal, but the Butcher had disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he had emerged.

Casey glanced over at the still form next to him, watching the kid’s back rise and fall with each steady breath. 

Chuck…asset, government property, Human Intersect, quasi-spy, partner, lover…weakness. Getting involved with Chuck had exposed him, both of them. The fucking Cardinal Rule – smashed to bits. 

He sighed heavily. He knew what he had to do first.

Chuck was going to hate him in the morning.


	2. Chapter Two

-x-

Casey vs. Redemption

Chapter Two

Chuck woke up with a start. It was late – at least midmorning already, he guessed, by the way the sun light slanted through the blinds and formed dappled patterns on the wall. He sat up and glanced over at his alarm clock. 

Crap. 

He remembered setting the alarm the night before, but it was clearly now set to the ‘off’ position. It was well past the time to get up if he was to have any chance of making it to work, well, just slightly late instead of really late. 

Heaving a sigh, he pushed the blankets off, got up, and padded across the hardwood floor. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Had Casey left for work without him? Why would he do that? 

Rubbing his eyes, he made his way down the hallway and into the living room. He spotted Casey sitting at the large, wooden desk that was tucked against one wall. His head was down, studying the same dog-eared and yellowing documents and newspapers clippings he had been looking at the night before. A white coffee mug with only the sludgy remnants of the black and bitter brew Casey preferred was perched on the corner of the work surface. Chuck saw Casey shift his attention to the computer monitor, while taking a sip of his coffee. He had obviously been up for hours already, showered and dressed in his Buy More polo and tan chinos.

Casey didn’t look up or even acknowledge the young man, who stood bare-chested and dressed only in his rumpled, gray sleep pants. Chuck stopped in front of the desk, and looked down at Casey

“Hey.” Chuck really wasn’t expecting a reply. He had lived with the man long enough to know that Casey wasn’t one for pleasantries in the morning, and Chuck could tell something was weighing heavily on him. Not a good time to push it, he thought. He saw Casey frown at the documents, not lifting his head to meet Chuck’s curious gaze.

“Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? Are we driving separate cars today?”

Casey slid one of the pieces of paper to the side, shuffled another to the top while speaking. “I already called the Buy More for you. Told them you have the flu and will be out for at least three days. You’ll be staying here, inside.” It wasn’t a question…and Casey was still looking down at those damned files. 

“Wh-what?” Chuck sputtered. “Wait. Wait a minute.” Chuck tried to piece together an explanation for Casey’s irrational behavior. Okay, he thought, there was a botched mission that had to be aborted, and that was followed by a mysterious conversation last night. But what did that have to do with him? He stared at the man in front of him who suddenly was acting so odd and distant. 

Well, at least more distant than usual, Chuck admitted to himself.

Baffled, Chuck took a step forward, almost challenging him. Almost, because he wasn’t quite that rash - the man was a trained killer, after all. 

“Last night,” Chuck said, “When you told me I needed to ‘lay low’ for a couple days. Did you really mean ‘Chuck, you are not allowed to step foot outside this apartment’? “

“Yep.”

Chuck stared at him with a confused look that quickly turned to impatience. Enough already, he thought. Now, the younger man was getting angry. Chuck deserved more than one word answers, and he certainly deserved to at least know what the hell was going on. Crossing his arms over his bare chest, he put on his most intimidating glare; it wasn’t much, but he knew it would get his point across. 

“That’s it. I want to know what’s going on. Casey, enough of this. Tell me. Right now. ”

Well, at least with the ‘Right now’, he finally had Casey’s attention. The large man looked up, closed the folder in front of him, and pushed his chair back, away from the desk. He moved around the work surface, stopping directly in front of Chuck. Then, he slowly and deliberately crossed his arms, mimicking Chuck’s stance. The younger man tried not to break eye contact, tried not to look at those biceps and forearms that were as big as large tree trunks… 

On impulse, his eyes shifted down before he could stop himself. 

Oh God. 

Okay. Next time, Chuck would have to try harder, but damn Casey for trying to intimidate him, and distracting him with a polo shirt stretched to its limits. Nervously clearing his throat, he quickly glanced back up at Casey’s eyes, and they locked with his. 

“Casey, I -”

“This is the way it is going to be, Bartowski.” Casey spoke, his voice gravelly and low. 

Chuck was stung by the use of his last name in that sentence. Since things had...changed…between them, Casey only referred to him as ‘Bartowski’ when they were on a mission, or when he was seriously pissed at Chuck for something ‘moronic’ he had done.

It didn’t take an Intersect-powered brain to figure out which situation it was at the moment, but for the life of him, Chuck couldn’t figure out which ‘moronic’ thing he was being accused of. Besides, he was the one who should be angry right now.

“I’m going to make it really simple for you,” Casey continued. “You have two choices. The apartment has a state of the art security system. I made sure of it. You can stay here.”

“So, essentially, I’m under house arrest -” Chuck’s anger was bubbling up. He didn’t like that Casey was withholding something, and that he was being treated like prisoner. He thought they had made progress – that he was regarded almost as an equal professionally.

Casey ignored the interruption. “That means not stepping so much as a toe outside. Or, your second option: I can haul your scrawny ass to Castle and throw you in the holding cell. Now, I thought you would be more comfortable here with your nerd paraphernalia, but if you fight me on this, you will get a ride in the trunk of the Crown Vic. Copy?” Casey paused, staring intently at the smaller man who stood toe to toe with him.

“So, which is it, Chuck? Choice one or two?"

Chuck’s mouth dropped open, he started to retort, stopped, and then he glared at the older man. 

What the hell has gotten him so wound up? What was causing this paranoia? 

“Casey, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you owe me an explanation. And,” he huffed, “You can’t make me stay here.”

Without breaking eye contact, Casey reached behind his back, into his pocket, and pulled out a pair of steel hand cuffs. He dangled them in front of Chuck’s face: a silent but potent threat.

Chuck’s eyes grew wide, but he put on his most willful expression – Casey couldn’t push him around like this.

“Are you serious? What are…you’re not kidding are you? I don’t believe this…”

That was definitely Casey’s ‘I’m not kidding face’ looking back at him – a lot like his regular facial expression.

He wouldn’t…

…Oh, he would. He so would.

The NSA agent was dead serious with his warning, and the young man knew when it was time to give in.

Okay, like now…now would be a good time to back down, Chuck, he told himself. He wasn’t going to win this one.

But that damn well didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. Chuck’s face contorted with anger - one last parting glare, and then he uncrossed his arms. Turning on his heel, he paced down the hallway to their bedroom. 

Their bedroom? My bedroom, he thought. Screw Casey - he can take the sofa.

He flopped down on the comforter, and let out a low groan. God, that man can be a stubborn ass. Now, it was Chuck’s turn to be pissed.

-x-

Rubbing his forehead, Casey watched the retreating form of partner, his muscles tense, and his long form knotted with anger. 

God, what a stubborn ass, he chided himself. Yes, he hated to admit it – Casey knew he was being an ass. 

He knew what he wanted to do right now.

He wanted to grab the kid by the arm and stop him. Chuck would be startled by the grip on his elbow, but he wouldn’t object. Casey knew him – the kid would sigh, and look at him with those bewildered eyes, his shoulders would drop slightly. Casey would run his fingertips slowly and lightly down that rigid back, watching the muscles uncoil with his touch. Chuck would be skittish right now, still annoyed by the man, but he’d let him do it… His fingers would drag in a tender path up his exposed chest, and then down to the waist band. His thumb would rest on Chuck’s jutting hip bone, and Casey would slowly pull the pants down past his hips…

Shit - get your dick out of your eye, soldier, he told himself. Now was not the time to be foolish; impulsive.

Shaking his head lightly and pursing his lips, he glanced down at the stack of papers and articles in front of him, reminded of the past horrors and brutality of Colletti. The man was here for vengeance, of that, Casey had no doubt. A vengeance that he would level at him with the intent to tear away, destroy his resolve, until he was crushed.

It was for Chuck’s own safety. Casey wouldn’t take a chance with his life. There was no way he would let the Butcher find out he had a weakness, a weakness that could be exploited. 

-x-

Casey’s shift at the Buy More had never crawled as slowly or monotonously as it had today. 

Maybe it was because Morgan, Ass Man Extraordinaire, with his monogrammed vest, clipboard in hand, pen behind his ear, pretended to assume authority over him – the Major. 

Or, maybe it was Jeff and Lester, trying to use Buy More company resources – video equipment – to record employee indiscretions in the break room, for use later as blackmail. 

Or maybe, it was because he and Chuck had argued, and Chuck was now sitting at home fuming. Because of him. 

Throughout the day, during regular breaks and lunch, Casey had made his way into Castle using the passage way behind the lockers in the employee break room. He sat hunched over the computer, pouring over the most recent Intel on Colletti and his contacts - surveillance videos of local distribution sites that were ‘of interest’ to the government, logs on covert ops, suspected ties, wire taps - anything.

Well, almost anything. There was one government database he refused to involve in this op. The Intersect would be a liability, he tried to tell himself. Besides, he didn’t need the Intel housed in the Intersect for this mission – hell, Casey knew everything there was to know about Colletti. What he needed to know was where the psycho was holed up right now. 

Some missions needed big brains, some just needed big guns. And this, he snorted to himself, was the shooting kind of mission. But he knew the real reason: he had no intention of exposing Chuck to the Butcher.

Casey rubbed his eyes and glanced up at the monitors. Working in Castle also gave him the opportunity to watch the screens that displayed each room of his, no their, apartment. He periodically glanced up at the flickering images, showing Chuck sprawled out on the sofa, game controller in hand, and balancing a sandwich on his lap. 

Damn well better not get that on the sofa, Casey thought. 

He then watched when Chuck pulled off his sleep pants and shuffled into the shower – Chuck probably wasn’t aware of the surveillance camera in their bathroom, but, it was protocol, Casey thought with a smirk – and then watched as he later folded laundry on the sofa, neat piles on the floor around him. 

Well, at least the kid had not disobeyed a direct order: he had not stepped outside the apartment all day. It was somewhat satisfying to know that he could still intimidate the nerd when necessary. Watching the screen, he studied the young man’s wistful expression. Casey felt damn sorry for being responsible for putting it there. But he stopped himself - it was imperative for the time being to do everything to protect Chuck. That was the way it had to be until Casey could find Colletti and end him.

-x-

He entered the security code and pushed open the door to the apartment. Music was blaring through the speakers, and pounded his ears. And, based upon the song selection, someone was in a particularly foul mood this evening. 

Really, Chuck? Do you have to be so fucking obvious? Casey thought, as he heard some hippy freak choke out asinine lyrics.

Save up all the days  
A routine malaise  
Just like yesterday  
I told you I would stay

Would you always  
Maybe sometime  
Make it easy?  
Take your time.

Casey could see Chuck seated at the kitchen table, with his back to the door. The agent crossed the foyer and living room, making his way to the stereo cabinet, and turned down the volume considerably. Alerted to the fact his partner was home, Chuck turned to glance at Casey, then immediately pivoted back to whatever held his attention at the kitchen table. 

Apparently, a large plate of leftover turkey sausage lasagna from two nights ago was much more interesting than Casey at the moment.

So much for dinner, Casey thought, eyeing the empty Styrofoam container, with the last scraps of tomato sauce still clinging to the inside. 

Alright, dammit, he was tempted to reprimand Chuck for his churlish behavior. But he stopped himself. Scrubbing his hands across his face, Casey was reminded that the kid had every right to be upset with him. 

Instead, he decided a warm shower would be a better idea - a way to clear his head. Standing under the rushing spray, soaping his neck and face, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to the young man with soulful eyes and a quick grin: Chuck. Casey leaned his head against the cold tile, watching the water swirl down the drain.

All of this was because Casey hadn’t opened up about his past history with Colletti. It was crazy, he knew, to think that keeping the Butcher in the past would keep Chuck safe – build a wall of protection around him from all of the long-ago dirty secrets and sins, protecting that innocence. 

Instead, he had affectively built a wall between himself and Chuck. 

Who was being the moron now? he asked himself.

Chuck was right. He deserved to know something.

-x-

“So?”

“It’s done.”

The Butcher looked up at his partner, raising a brow in question, waiting for the other man to continue. He had asked his colleague to call in a favor, a costly one. Folding his hands in front of him, the man with black hair and hollow eyes gazed up at the other with keen interest. His partner’s role was to ensure that the NSA agent on the inside - the one that he had bought off - would follow through on his end of the bargain. 

Luckily for the dark haired man, a person with no scruples could be found in any agency.

“An ‘Agent Meyers’ has made the arrangements,” his partner confirmed. “Tomorrow, at a warehouse in El Sereno, there will be an ambush by a small team within the NSA. You will die in a firestorm of bullets.”

An oily grin slid on his face. That was what he wanted to hear. “Make it good. No body – no evidence.”

-x-

After his shower, Casey pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black short sleeve t-shirt. When he walked down the hall and into the kitchen, he could see Chuck standing at the sink with his back to him. His head was tilted down as he rinsed a plate, unaware of Casey entering the room. 

Casey quietly moved across the terra cotta tile floor, until he stood directly behind Chuck, close enough to feel the warmth from the slim man’s body. Slowly, he put one hand on the counter next to Chuck’s hip, and reached around him with his other hand to shut off the water. This maneuver essentially trapped the young man between Casey’s body and counter top. Chuck lifted his head, but didn’t turn around to face him. Leaning in, Casey nuzzled the soft curls behind Chuck’s ear, and blew a small, warm breath on his neck. At least Chuck had not attempted to push him away – yet. Casey’s lips trailed back to his ear, but instead of using his tongue to tease the sensitive skin, he paused and then whispered, his voice a low rumble. 

“He’s from my past. I’m the one who deceived him, put him away. He would do anything to get to me.” Casey grazed his ear with a warm breath once more. “He would hurt you, use you, kill…if he knew about you.” Against his body, Casey could feel Chuck tense, his spine stiffen, and watched as he swallowed hard. Casey continued, “I can’t let that happen - I won’t. You need to trust me.” 

There was a long silence, until Chuck slowly twisted to face the larger man, his brown eyes meeting azure blue, and he blinked a few times. Then, he slowly trailed his hands up Casey’s arms, watching the path they took, until they rested on his shoulders. 

Chuck studied his face then blew out a long breath. “Okay.”

Puzzled, Casey squinted at the kid. That wasn’t the answer he expected. “Okay? That’s it? You don’t have a barrage of questions for me? You’re not going to argue or babble incessantly about this?” 

Gazing at him intently, as if Casey’s core was stripped, visible and bare, the younger man murmured. “No – that’s it. Really. I wanted you to talk to me and you did. You told me something about your past.” A crooked, familiar grin appeared. “Though, for future reference, maybe we can do without the threats of grabbing and dragging? You’re a little overprotective, buddy. Did you have to be such an ass about it, Casey?”

Staring, the big man frowned but said nothing. Not gonna change that Chuck – not til Colletti’s out of the picture.

Chuck’s smile faded, and he gazed intently at Casey again. He lightly squeezed the larger man’s shoulders. “You asked me to trust you.” Chuck stroked his thumb across the back of Casey’s neck. “I do.”

Later, after Casey’s knees had sunk to the tile floor, when Chuck’s long fingers were tangled in his hair, and he parted his lips to take Chuck into his mouth, Casey was thankful. 

Thankful for pretty men with pure hearts who could forgive – who could wash away dirt and cynicism and every shitty, unspeakable act from the past and make men like him whole again. 

 

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

-x-

Casey vs. Redemption

Chapter Three

John Casey was a compulsive creature: he cleaned his weapons every night before going to bed, neatly trimmed his ornamental tree before dinner, and washed his Crown Vic every Saturday morning.

So when Casey stretched his long legs and reached his arm under the blankets, lazily opening his eyes, he expected to find the same thing he had found there every morning for the past three months and six days: a mop of brown hair, a t-shirt riding up a narrow back, and if he was lucky, his morning wood pressed into the crease of the back of Chuck’s Iron Man boxers. 

Finding the bed empty, and Chuck’s side not even warm anymore, made Casey go from half asleep to high alert in the time it took to reach in his nightstand drawer and take the safety off his SIG Sauer.

He quietly peaked around the frame of the bedroom door, then slid without a noise down the hall way. He turned abruptly around the corner, gun leveled and pointing at…Chuck.

The kid stood in the kitchen with a piece of toast in his mouth, and both hands in the air in mock surrender. 

“Stand down, Major.” He chewed slowly and regarded the large man. “It’s just me.” 

Casey rolled his eyes, and after re-engaging the safety, set the weapon down on the kitchen table. He went back into the bedroom and put on a silk robe. When he returned to the kitchen, Chuck was perched behind the desk at the computer, munching the rest of his toast, and engrossed in his work.

Something geeky, whatever it is, Casey thought.

“What’s got you in combat mode this morning, anyway?” Chuck asked, looking up from the laptop.

Ignoring the question, Casey strode over to the desk and looked over the smaller man’s shoulder. “What’re you doing up already?”

That was the opening Chuck was looking for. Eager to show Casey that he could contribute to this operation, Chuck smiled and turned to the screen. He was in his element now.

“I thought about the mission - and what you told me. So, whoever this person is, he was there at the hotel for the same reason we were-” 

“-And you decided stick your nose where it doesn’t belong…”

Okay, not good. Talk fast, Chuck, he told himself. 

“Since I haven’t been exposed to anything that would trigger a flash, I scraped the NSA and CIA databases for all related Intel in the past decade: locations of suspected arms deals within a 50 mile radius of L.A., types of weapons, interested parties – everything we had – and dumped it into a compressed index file and a mapping application,” he paused, making sure he had not missed anything. 

“How did you access that? You don’t have clearance.”

“Your password is ‘miss_vic,’” Chuck smirked, looking up a Casey. “A little too easy, big guy. You might want to think about changing that.” 

Casey growled deep in this throat. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the nerd. The kid wanted something. He could sense it.

“Then, I transferred the data onto your smart phone. Here.” Chuck disconnected the phone from the USB port and handed it to him.

“Almost everything you’ll need today, right at your fingertips,” he said, pointedly, standing up to face the bigger man. 

“Almost everything?” Casey asked. Chuck had that nervous, edgy tone in his voice. 

The younger man knew that was his chance – and he ran with it. “I can help you in other ways, you know…I coul -"

“No.”

“Casey, the Intersect may hav -”

“No.” Casey’s mouth was a straight line, his eyes cold and dark. There was no way in hell he would let Chuck get involved in this op. The Butcher was a psychopath, the kind that made seasoned agents sick. If Colletti knew John Casey had a goddamn living-breathing-walking weakness, then he would use it to exact the revenge he promised all those years ago. 

This was for Chuck’s own good; he didn’t have to like it. 

“But I thought – last night – when you said -” Chuck started again.

“Doesn’t change anything. Not ‘til the op is over.” Casey lifted his chin and dug his heels in. He stood close to Chuck and stared him down. “Do you remember what else I said yesterday? Options one and two? Well, option two is still on the table. You’d be comfortable in Castle holding facility – I promise. Do you really want to keep fighting me on this?”

“But what if it’s in here - the information you need?!” Chuck asked, tapping his forehead. “I can help, but I need to be there – wherever you’re going!”

“Chuck, you do the nerdy work, and leave the dirty work to me.”

Chuck snorted. “Really, Casey? How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

“We talked about this…”

“’Talked’…wow, I get it now,” Chuck said flatly. “But thanks - I wouldn’t want to set my expectations too high for the whole ‘talking’ thing.”

The words hung in the air, followed by silence, broken only by the soft whir of the laptop’s fan. Chuck turned his back, and started to walk to the kitchen. 

“I thought you said you trusted me,” Casey finally said.

This time, it was Chuck’s turn to stop in his tracks. 

Dammit. Casey was right. And, Chuck knew he was right.

Chuck closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, he turned around, and glanced down at the phone in Casey’s palm.

“You’re right. Okay. Everything you need is there,” he said, indicating the phone.

Casey shifted his stance, slowly wrapped his arms around Chuck’s waist, and pulled him in close. Chuck allowed himself to be dragged, watching Casey with wide hazel eyes.

Scanning the younger man’s face, Casey brought up a large hand and stroked Chuck’s jaw, and then lightly brushed his thumb over the nerd’s lips.

“That’s not what I need. That’s why you’re staying here – safe.”

-x-

“Major Casey.”

Casey’s had been studying the video surveillance taken from the hotel during the aborted op, so deep in thought that the General’s sudden appearance on the Castle LCD screen almost made him jump. The red haired tyrant was poised in her usual position, sitting at her desk, and a scowl on her face.

“I have an update on the status of the Scorpio mission and on Colletti in particular.” She had emphasized the last part of that sentence, knowing it would be of keen interest to her agent. Immediately, Casey stood and walked a few steps closer to the monitor, crossing his arms, as she continued. “It seems one of our own, Agent Meyers, in an unrelated operation, had the fortunate opportunity to encounter Colletti and some of his acquaintances at approximately 0500. There was a standoff between our team and Colletti’s.” 

“What’s the status? Where are they?”

“This is the scene as it is now.” One section of the monitor displayed what looked to be a warehouse, fully engulfed in flames. 

“Agent Meyers is alive and being treated at the scene,” she said. “He indicates the Scorpio faction has been neutralized, and the Butcher was among them.”

“Coordinates?” Casey was already packing a tac bag. 

“They’re being sent to you now. Report back after de-briefing Agent Meyers.”

-x-

When Casey arrived at the warehouse forty minutes later, the air was filled with putrid smoke and a foul stench. The surrounding area had been littered with crates, weapon components, and debris. Unfazed, Casey surveyed the wreckage and strode to a group of huddled agents. Agent Meyers and two of his men were being treated by medics, seated in the back of an EMS vehicle. 

“Where the hell is Colletti?” Casey wasted no time getting to the question he wanted Meyers to answer. 

Meyers was badly shaken but coherent enough to confirm what Casey needed to hear: the Scorpio faction had been trapped inside when the warehouse had exploded. Several bodies that were burned beyond recognition had been pulled from the smoking embers.

Later, when his reports were filed and the cleaning-crew was putting out the dying flames, Casey allowed himself a moment to think. Leaning against the NSA tactical van, he didn’t feel relieved, vindicated, elated, or any other emotion he thought he should feel—just tired. 

The sick bastard was dead. It was time to go home.

-x-

Casey entered the security code and pushed open the door to the apartment. It felt good to be there after the spending the day amid the wreckage of the building. 

After stepping inside the apartment, the first thing he noticed in contrast to the scene at the warehouse was the quiet. No TV, no music, no Xbox.

Where the hell was Chuck? He thought. I will kick his nerdy little ass if he disob-

There - he glanced down at the sofa and saw the kid sprawled out, laying on his stomach, face stuck in the cushion. 

Yep, still breathing, though. How the hell does he sleep like that? He wondered.

Casey reached down to smooth a piece of hair that was standing up in a crazy wave.

“Aahh!” A flailing hand leapt out, and Casey caught Chuck’s wrist with ease, holding it tightly.

“Just me." He looked at the wide-eyed, startled young man. “Remind me to re-train you on the attack moves from a prone position. I don’t think the girly scream and swatting was part of the lesson,” Casey deadpanned.

Chuck frowned at Casey’s attempted humor, and tried to pull his wrist back, but Casey used it to drag him up to a sitting position.

“It’s not fair when you sneak up on me like that, you know. Stealthy as a damned cat,” he muttered, rubbing his head. “What are you doing home, anyway -”

Casey stopped him by using his other hand to draw his fingers across Chuck’s cheek. The kid hadn’t shaved and it made a soft scratching sound. 

“Go take a shower. We’re going out. Dinner. Maybe even one of those nerdy movies you like.” Casey sighed, and then the corner of his mouth lifted, almost a smile. “It’s over.”

-x-

The headlights of the Vic cut through the dark. There was a content silence in the car, the kind after a satisfying meal and light conversation. It had been a damn good day, Casey thought. NSA 2, Colletti 0. He liked to win.

“Let’s skip the coffee shop,” Casey said.

“Really? I thought…” Chuck glanced over at the big man. He recognized that look, the eyebrow ticked up, and a suggestive grin; it was somewhere between a leer and downright lascivious in Casey’s repertoire of ‘looks’. 

Chuck swallowed hard and nodded. “Oh. Oh. Okay then. Home it is.”

-x-

“You look quite…healthy…for a dead man.”

“So, it’s done.” The dark haired man regarded the other occupant of the room, looking for confirmation. 

“Yes. The United States government has rid itself of the Butcher, once and for all. The clean-up crew is sorting through the body fragments now, and our…friend…has made his report to his superiors.”

“Good. As they say, death frees us of our human bonds. So, the Butcher is free. I’m free.”

-x-

The living room of the apartment was dark; only the street lamp that was shining through the slats of the blinds lit their way. The rustling sound of fabric was broken by a quick intake of breath.

“In the morning? When you complain about my pants and belt hanging from the front door knob? Just remember, you’re the one that put them there, so- mmph”

-x-

The blankets were rumpled in a pile at the foot of the bed, and a shirt, pants, and socks were curled in a heap on the floor. Two bodies of tangled limbs rolled and squirmed; muscle against lean, elbows and knees and weird lines that somehow fit together.

“Say it…Say it, Chuck.” Casey’s voice was a soft rumble, his face buried in wacky brown curls, splayed across the pillow.

“C-casey…w-what…uhhH.”

“Do it…c’mon…” It was a barely audible command, whispered against his ear.

“J-john…p-please…”

Hands trailed lightly down his side and grabbed his narrow hips, pressing down firmly.

“..yeah…” A husky groan rumbled against Chuck’s neck, and hot breath tickled his ear.

The begging, pleading, hearing his first name – yeah. That did it for him. Casey gripped hard when he felt white sparks of fire in his belly. He could feel Chuck at the edge too. Good. That’s also what Casey liked. Take him to the edge and make him teeter there, playing with him, before pushing him over.

-x-

Months ago, when Casey first witnessed that ungodly expression on Chuck’s face when he was overcome with a flash, Casey had thought momentarily that it looked like the kid was coming in his pants. 

Later, in the ‘AC’ era , he discovered that the flash face and the orgasm face were slightly different. And, in fact, he could tell the difference.

He peered down at his partner’s relaxed expression, and heard the soft, even breaths. Chuck was out. Casey rested his chin on the younger man’s smooth shoulder.

No flashing tonight, huh, kiddo? He thought smugly, drifting off to sleep.

-x-

Chuck stood over the table in the Buy More break room, checking over the contents of his computer repair case. He couldn’t believe he was actually happy to be at work today, but after being locked up in the apartment for the past two days it felt good to be on his routine again. 

Normal, he thought. Well, as normal as it can be living a secret life and romantically attached to a government agent. 

A very protective government agent.

Chuck had spent his day trying to get caught up – two days away from the Herd had caused a back-log of orders and paperwork. As he unpacked his locker and closed the computer repair kit, Casey rounded the corner.

“Thought you were done at five today,” he said, tilting his head towards the metal box Chuck used for offsite installs and repairs.

“Yeah, well, I promised Morgan I would stop at his cousin’s - off the clock. Guillermo? The one that owns an appliance store?”

Casey’s blank look told Chuck that he needed to speed up this explanation.

“Well, anyway, his network keeps crashing, and Morgan says the IT guy there doesn’t know a server’s two node blade from a nose bleed…”

Chuck grinned, waiting for Casey to get the punch line.

“Nerd humor?”

Chuck cleared his throat. “I guess you had to be there. I’ll have to explain it to you later. Anyway, I told him I would stop by on the way home to take a look.”

Casey glanced over at the door. “Oh, you are going to be too busy later, Bartowski.”

The young man felt his face get hot, starting at his cheeks and then down to his neck. Okay, add that to the list of times where Casey still uses his last name – angry, on a mission, and now…horny. It had taken months for Chuck to figure out that this lewd banter was Casey’s way of flirting.

Casey grabbed Chuck’s tie and pulled, until their lips met. It wasn’t a tender kiss, but, hell, like John Casey himself, it got the job done.

“Make sure you come by eight.”

Chuck coughed. “Assassin humor?”

Winking, Casey said, “I’ll explain that to you later.”

-x

The images were grainy, obviously taken through a long range lens of a surveillance camera. But, it was him. He was sure of it. The dark haired man used the software to zoom in on one of the shots in particular that had caught his interest. It was the least hazy, and the faces came into focus.

John Casey. The man’s features and physique were unmistakable, even with these low quality pictures. But, that wasn’t what had caught the man’s interest – it was the other subject in the photo: tall, gangly, with curly, brown hair. 

The man studied the image, rubbing his top lip with his forefinger absently. That expression on the NSA agent’s face; yes, that was what he was looking for.

Without turning back to the other man leaning over his shoulder, he pointed at the screen.

“That’s him. That’s the one I want.”

-x-

Morgan had not been kidding about the IT guy at his cousin’s appliance store. Any geek worth his weight in terabytes could have figured out what the problem was. In less than forty-five minutes, Chuck had run diagnostics, quarantined several nasty viruses, upgraded their accounting software, and was now testing response time. 

When he was packing up to leave, Morgan’s cousin tried to slip him a check, or at least offer him a refurbished blender from one of the stocked shelves, but Chuck declined.

“For a friend - no charge,” he said. Morgan’s cousin smiled and patted Chuck on the back. 

Chuck made his way back to the herder. It was dusk by this time, and the sky was splashed with purple and blue hues.

One more stop – groceries, he thought. He also decided this would be a good time to check up on Ellie. Even though they lived across the courtyard from one another, her schedule at the hospital, and his spy missions had kept them from being able to check in with each other. He slipped his Bluetooth receiver behind his ear and called Ellie from the car.

Ellie was entrenched in ‘wedding planning hell’. As Chuck strolled down the aisles of the grocery store, picking up two rib eye steaks, lettuce, and potatoes, he listened sympathetically, inserting the appropriate response ‘Sounds nice,’ and ‘Uh-huh,’ between the flow of Ellie’s words.

“Ellie, I am sure Honey means well by ordering those bridesmaids dresses before you could sign off on them. And, maybe she is right about the hoisin sauce salmon…?” 

He didn’t think it would be helpful at this point to come out and say that Devon’s mother is a meddling bitch that must be stopped. 

“And one more thing, Chuck.” Ellie said. “You need to bring John over for dinner on Sunday.”

“Uh, okay. Sounds good, Ellie.” A few months ago, his sister had learned of their relationship, and Chuck was thankful that after she had wiped that shocked look off of her face, she was supportive of them. Casey now had a permanent invitation for Sunday dinners.

“Whatever is best for my brother – whatever makes him happy,” she had said. “And, you,” she smiled at the big man, “Make him happy.” 

Yes, his sister could be a pain sometimes, but that night, it reminded him why he loved her so much.

“Chuck?” His sister’s voice on the phone brought him back to the present, as he ambled up to the check out. “Devon wants to ask John to be a groomsman,” she said.

“Ellie, I’m…shocked - but pleased! Really…and I’m sure Casey….well, he’ll be… pleased too, I’m sure,” he stammered. That wasn’t quite the truth, but he would make it up to Casey later. “But what about Devon’s brothers?”

“We’ll make room for John in the wedding party, Chuck. He’s family now, right?”

-x-

Castle was quiet except for the humming of the fans, cooling the massive electronic and computer equipment. Casey squatted at his work station, pulled out the file drawer, and stuffed the Colletti file back where it belonged. He liked to think of it as his ‘scumbag’ drawer – where he kept papers, pictures, documents of the garbage he had helped remove from the streets of the good ol’ U.S .of A.

He liked to think of it as his own environmental project. 

As he finished unpacking his tac bag, the LCD screen popped to life, and for what seemed the thousandth time, the General’s face peered back at him.

She wasted no time getting to the point. “Major. We have an update on the Colletti case.” She reached down and punched a key on her keyboard, and the screen displayed a series of flickering images. They were obviously taken from a surveillance camera. “These were taken late this afternoon, from an industrial area we have been monitoring for quite some time now. The images paused, and zoomed in close to a group of men standing next to a late model van with the backdrop of a cement block wall. 

Casey tilted his head and stepped closer to the image on the screen.

It was him.

He felt his stomach drop, and could feel his heart rate jump, rattling his chest.

He didn’t hear the general tell him that the Intel from the operation yesterday was bad. He didn’t hear her say that they now thought Colletti was still alive.

Casey was already sprinting, taking the steps of Castle two at time.

-x-

As Chuck crossed the parking lot, he slid the phone into his back pocket and then fished through the other pockets for the keys. He opened the car door and leaned into the tiny back seat of the herder, dropping the grocery bags on the floor behind the driver’s seat. 

When he stood up, he felt his breath escape in a gasp when something wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He was being pushed against the herder, and a heavy body was leaning into him. A hand was then clamped over his mouth. Chuck kicked his legs desperately, trying to make contact, but his legs were trapped, wedged by the other man’s legs into the driver’s side door. 

“Dammit. What are you waiting for? This is a fucking parking lot - hurry your ass up before – Ouch! The little fucker just bit me!” Chuck felt his head get wrenched backwards, apparently his punishment for trying to get rid of the hand over his mouth.

“He’s not exactly holding still for this, ya’ know? Grab his arm.” Chuck felt his arm yanked in a grip, and then a burning sting in his bicep.

His vision wavered, the ground pitched, and then it went black.

-x-

Hi, this is Chuck. I can’t come to the phone, so leave a message.

Fucking voice mail. Again.

“Chuck, wherever you are, I need you to go home right now. I will meet you there. Call me. Now.”

Casey ran through the parking lot, dodging vehicles and shopping carts, and came to an abrupt halt at the Crown Vic. 

A single piece of paper was stuck under windshield wiper. His first instinct was that it was one of those pesky sales fliers, a perpetual nuisance at the Buy More plaza, but something made him stop and yank it out from under the blade. 

It only had two words on it.

‘I win’


	4. Casey vs. Redemption (Chapter Four)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a man from Casey’s past slips into town, he targets Casey by exploiting his weakness.

x-

Casey vs. Redemption

Chapter Four

The side door of the van slid open, and the dark haired man peered inside. “Pathetic,” Colletti scoffed. “Are you sure?” He glanced at the other man who was hunched over in the cargo area of the vehicle, for confirmation. It was dark by now, but Colletti could see the disgusted look on the other man’s face. 

“Pathetic? The guy works at a fucking nerd farm, drives a car that looks like it was shit out of a real car, and does side jobs at a piss hole that sells microwaves and washing machines. Just following him all day nearly killed me.” The man with a pock-marked face kicked the prone figure to emphasize his point before continuing. “This guy would have to move up a few notches just to reach pathetic.” 

“You’re certain, though, Carlo?” Colletti asked. He considered Carlo Bianchi a capable thug, entrusting him with jobs that required a certain touch. But this job was too important to screw up. 

“That’s him – from the picture. I’m sure,” Carlo said.

“Good. Let’s go then.” Colletti jerked his head towards the inside of the van, and put his hand on the side of the door. 

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Carlo blocked him with a hand in the air, and stepped out of the van. “We grabbed the package and brought him to the rendezvous. That was the agreement – the other half on delivery.” The man jerked his thick thumb towards the geek. “There’s your delivery. Where’s mine?”

The movement was so swift and exact that before Carlo could reach for his weapon, a polished blade with a small hook on the end was pressed against his neck. “We don’t have time to argue here, Carlo. You’ll get your money at the final destination. Now move it – get back in the van.” Colletti turned his glare to the blond, squat man watching their confrontation from the driver’s seat. “You’ll go where I tell you. They’ll try to follow our trail. We need to move, now.” 

The Butcher pressed the knife into Carlo’s neck once more, emphasizing his point, and then pulled the blade away. The men glared at each other until Carlo finally looked away from Colletti’s gaze, backing down from the challenge. Colletti followed Carlo into the back of the van and the door slid closed. The driver, who had been watching the stand-off, finally put the van in gear and accelerated. 

“Get on the freeway – south,” Colletti demanded.

The van turned sharply, causing the occupants to tilt and shift in the cargo area. 

Finally, Colletti could inspect their unwilling passenger. He cast a curious glance over the young man with curly brown hair, sprawled on the floor of the van. Then, he quickly opened a small black bag, and removed two zip ties. He pulled the unconscious man’s arms behind his back and expertly looped the tie, binding his wrists tight. He repeated the maneuver with zip ties on his ankles. 

Reaching into the black bag again, he pulled out a small electronic device and activated it. The wacky hair, the clothes, the shoes: the young man certainly didn’t look like an operative, but Colletti wasn’t in the mood to take risks. If the kid was important to John Casey, he knew the agent would take certain precautions to keep him safe – to protect him from the dark under belly of the spy world, Colletti thought with a smirk. He swept the device over the prone man’s body, waiting for the signal he expected. 

Yes, there it was. The watch. Predictable, he thought. It caused the sensor to emit a small beeping sound. The dark haired man grabbed the bound wrist and quickly unlatched the black band.

“It’s active – pitch it.” He handed it to the driver, who tossed the watch out the window of the vehicle. 

Colletti patted down the young man’s pockets, finding a phone and a wallet. Slipping the SIM card out, the phone was tossed out the window next. He opened the wallet, examining the contents.

“Charles Irving Bartowski of Echo Park...,” the man hummed, and flipped through the credit cards and receipts. There were pictures: one was a beautiful brunette with a broad smile standing next to a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a comic book wearing a cape.

And then, tucked behind the first picture, he found another picture – one that made him pause. He smiled and shoved it in his pocket.

-x-

Casey’s almost choked when he opened the door to the apartment. He already knew that the herder was not parked in its usual spot, and that Chuck had not returned his calls. And now, it was almost like he was being taunted when he walked in and was met with silence: no size thirteen Converse shoes scattered by the door, no messenger bag slung over the kitchen chair, and no plastic take out cup next to the sink. The apartment felt cold and empty without the energy Chuck radiated.

Goddammit.

Then, he stopped himself. Okay, pull your head out, he thought. Panicking will not help Chuck right now. He powered up the laptop and began a methodical search –the herder GPS, the watch, and surveillance cams from the Buy More. When he plugged in the coordinates of the herder, he found it was parked at a Valu Plus food market off of Glendale. The watch was less than a mile away, on I-5, the tiny blip on the screen not moving. 

Shit.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he replayed in his head the conversation that they had in the break room earlier. What had Chuck said? Something about Morgan and…his cousin – the appliance store. He stood up from the desk and quickly dialed the bearded troll’s number.

Voice mail again.

Casey raked his hands through his hair and tossed the cell phone on the table. The phone startled him by ringing the moment it hit the table.

The caller ID displayed ‘Unknown caller’. Instinctively, he knew who it was.

“Colletti,” he said without waiting for the other man to speak.

“Agent Casey.”

“I guess what they say is true. Cockroaches can survive anything.”

“Bitter already? But we’re just getting started.”

“What the hell do you want?” 

“I’m sending you a text right now with a URL. Let’s meet online for starters, and video chat. Don’t try to track the phone number, or the IP. You know I’m not that stupid.”

The call ended abruptly. Casey moved quickly to the laptop and typed in the URL Colletti sent to his phone, directing him to a web chat site. His phone beeped with another text message – two codes. He typed the codes in the ID and password fields, and activated his web cam. A window opened, showing a video feed. 

Colletti’s face appeared on the screen.

Fucking great. Now I get to see that psychopath up close.

The dark haired man adjusted the angle of the web cam, and now Casey had a better vantage of the room – and its occupants. The room appeared to be small: cinder block walls, no windows, nothing identifiable. But that wasn’t what had caught his attention. Lying on a cot was a prone form; he was on his stomach, hands secured behind his back. Casey could not detect any movement. Colletti was sitting next to the still figure, a smug look stretching across his face when he glanced down at his captive. 

White shirt, black pants, Converse shoes, brown curls – unmistakable. 

Casey knew how to look stoic and bored at the same time – hell, he had perfected it - and he damn well knew this was the time to plaster that look on his face. 

Inside, he wanted to punch a hole in the wall right now. 

Colletti had a plastic badge in his hand. He flicked it absently against his thigh and then held it up to read the block lettering. 

Casey recognized it immediately.

“Charles Bartowski. Buy More. Nerd Herd,” Colletti examined the tag. “I have to say I am surprised, Agent.”

Casey shrugged with indifference. “I am too. Seems like you’re going to a hell of a lot of trouble to get your mother board replaced. Most people just make a service call.” 

The Butcher chuckled. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, flimsy object; Casey couldn’t make it out until Colletti held it up, close to the cam.

He recognized the picture. It was Chuck’s favorite - Casey had seen the look on Chuck’s face when Ellie had given it to him. Cheeks flushed, he had smiled lightly and shoved it into his wallet.

Ellie had taken the picture at dinner the night they had told her that Casey was a bit more than just a neighbor who shared a car pool and the occasional meal. They shared other things too, Chuck had told her, hesitantly. Later, after the hugs and tears, Ellie snuck into her room and brought out her digital camera to take a picture of them. Chuck sat at the table, relaxed, arms resting in front of him. It felt good not having to lie about his life for once, Casey could tell. The kid’s face beamed, a smile that reached his eyes, causing them to crinkle at the corners. 

But the striking aspect of the picture was Casey. The big man had let his guard down -the only time Chuck could recall that happening - and his eyes shone with content. He stood behind Chuck’s chair, leaning down with his arms wrapped around the younger man’s shoulders and chest, engulfing him in a close hug. Chuck loved this picture because it gave him a glimpse of something he rarely saw: no pretenses, no wall of indifference. Just John Casey, watching over him - keeping him safe. 

Chuck vowed to himself from that moment on, he would do the same.

Colletti held the picture in his hand – mocking him. Provoking. Casey almost cursed Chuck for having something so intimate, so personal, and so damn revealing with him. 

Looking into the web cam, his jaw ached from holding a stiff expression. 

The Butcher turned the photo back to look at it and frowned. “You should have trained him better though, Agent. This one didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“What do you want?” Casey gritted out each word between his teeth.

The dark haired man ignored the question and looked down at his hand. One lock of Chuck’s hair was twirled absently between his fingers. 

The psycho was taunting him. 

“Soft, isn’t it? I bet you like this. You do the same, don’t you? This one, he’s valuable to you, isn’t he?” 

Casey took in a deep breath through his nose. “I’m going to ask you again – what the hell do you want?”

“See, I knew we could work together,” Colletti smiled, and ruffled Chuck’s hair before pulling his hand away. “We’ll be in touch this evening.” He winked, and the video link ended.

Casey got up from the desk, turned to the wall, and stopped. Then, in one quick, reflexive stab, he punched his fist through it. He looked down at his hand, knuckles a bloody mess. 

He didn’t feel it.

x

“You’ve lost the Intersect.” It was a blunt accusation. The General’s voice was steady, but he could hear that wave of panic underneath. 

The Intersect. The Asset, he thought with disgust. That’s all he is to you. Watching the General’s video feed from the living room of the apartment, Casey balled his fists under the table to control the anger that was working its way to the surface. She would want to send in a team resembling a shot gun, scattering and ricocheting shots throughout LA, when what was needed was a direct hit – a rifle shot. And, Casey was the rifle. He knew the target better than anyone.

“What the hell happened?” she continued.

“General, as you know, the Intel from Agent Meyers was comprised. Not only is Colletti still alive, but he has Ch…the Intersect.” And add Meyers to my list of people to shoot when this is done, he thought.

“I’m bringing in a team. You’ll -”

“General. If I may speak -”

She eyed him warily. “What is it, Major?”

“Bringing in a unit right now will drive Colletti underground, and Chuck with him – if he doesn’t end up dead first.” He tried to keep his voice steady. “I know Colletti. I know how he works. I’m requesting twelve hours to retrieve the asset. If I don’t succeed by then, you can bring in your team.” There was no way in hell he was ready to reveal to the General that the Butcher had already contacted him. 

Squinting, she studied the man before her. “You have eight hours. Don’t fail.”

-x-

When he was little, Chuck had a small beagle - Peaches. Or Peaches II, depending upon whose version of the story he believed. Once, he remembered, Peaches had found a dead rabbit, and had done what every self-respecting hound has been known to do: she rolled around on it – and then came home. In the rain.

That distinct smell of something wet, musty, and dead was the first thing Chuck sensed when he felt himself creeping out the blackness.

“Peaches?” 

God, is that my voice? he thought. It sounded raw and way too deep to be his voice.

Wait. Wait a minute. His thoughts whirled and his brain re-engaged. Peaches is in dog heaven. This is…somewhere else, but definitely not dog heaven. Heaven should smell good - not like this. 

His eyes felt like the lids were glued together and he forced them open, blinking wide. Striped fabric of blue and white ticking came into focus. He struggled weakly at first; trying to move his arms, kick his legs. Where the hell am I? he wondered. Chuck turned his head towards the center of the room and tried to recognize the surroundings. 

Cement block walls, a dented steel door, and strangely enough, a small table with a laptop sitting on it. There was another door to his right that was open slightly. 

Not that it would do him any good at the moment: he was on his stomach, hands and feet bound, and God did the cot he was laying on smell.

Not good not good so not good.

He tried to replay the events in his foggy memory. How did he get here? He remembered going to work, and finally ending up at the grocery store. He had been grabbed from behind - strong arms that had pinned him. There were hazy memories of struggling and fighting, doing anything he could to break out of that hold, but he had blacked out.

He rocked his body back and forth a few times, until he had gained enough momentum to roll on to his side. It wasn’t comfortable – not with his arms trapped like this, but he had to move, had to do something, to get blood flowing through his limbs again. He needed to shift his weight and stretch his muscles.

Why do people say they lose the feeling in their hands when they’re tied up? he thought. I feel this. And it hurts like hell. 

The murkiness in his brain was lifting, and he thought of Casey. Was Casey tracking him by now? Wriggling his wrist, the young man realized he couldn’t feel his watch – obviously, they had found the GPS device. Chuck tilted his head back and blew out a sigh. Knowing the NSA agent, if he had been able to track Chuck’s captors, Chuck would be home safe already. 

All of this pointed to one thing: they, whoever ‘they’ were, had succeeded in taking him off grid.

Chuck didn’t know how long he’d been out, but one thing was for certain; Casey wouldn’t show it of course, but he would be feeling a little frantic by now. 

Okay…okay, Chuck, he thought. Get a grip. What would Casey do? He wouldn’t just lie here, he thought bitterly. He’d be out of here already, and several bad guys would be wondering how they could ever shit again with a hand-held NSA-issued blow torch permanently shoved up their asses. That’s what Casey would do. 

Chuck shuddered at the thought of Casey’s colorful methods, but, hey, evil doers got him worked up. 

…Who am I kidding? He would’ve never gotten in this mess in the first place – he’s John Casey, Captain Invincible.

Chuck sighed, his head landing with a thump back on the cot. I am so screwed, he thought.

Then, he paused and lifted his head again. There was a rhythm of footsteps outside the door, stopping, and then a metal click.

Oh crap.

The steel door was pushed open. A brief flicker of hope that Casey would be behind the door was quickly dashed when two men strode into the room. One had brown hair and a face scarred with pock marks; he was average height and built like a barrel. The other was very tall, with slick dark hair, and wearing a faded khaki colored jacket. Of course, from Chuck’s current vantage point, hog tied and looking up from the small bunk, anyone would look tall – and menacing. 

When the dark haired man stepped close to the cot and peered down at him, Chuck felt a familiar spark erupt in his mind, and a whirl of images assaulted him. His eyelids fluttered and he gasped a quick intake of air.

A palm leaf

A beach with dead jelly fish washed up to shore

A torso in a shipping container

A black widow

A gut hook skinner knife

A child’s red boot

A palm leaf

Oh God Still not good Sooo not good. 

“How much of a dose did you give him anyway? He still looks out of it.”

“He looked like he was awake a few minutes ago,” the barrel-chested man said.

Blinking rapidly, Chuck refocused his eyes, and stared up at the two men, hoping he didn’t look as terrified as he felt.

Wait a minute, he thought, when his brain caught up and his meager spy senses kicked in. In order to know that he was awake, they were watching him via a security cam hidden in the room somewhere. Good to know, he thought.

The tall man continued to study him, like he was a peculiar trapped animal. The nerd could feel the man’s eyes trailing over his body - his legs, his chest, and finally, his eyes meeting Chuck’s. He had never seen a living thing with eyes like that. Hollow and dead, like fish eyes, Chuck thought. 

“You’re awake. Charles, is it? Or do you prefer Chuck?” 

Chuck pressed his lips shut and shifted his eyes to look back at the door, the walls, anywhere but the faces of the two men.

The dark haired man frowned at him for a moment and then a hand shot out. Chuck felt it in his hair, clamping down tight as he was pulled forcefully into a sitting position. He tried not to yell out in pain – he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction - but he couldn’t stop the tight moan that escaped his throat. 

“Let’s try this again, Chuck.” Colletti flipped Chuck’s Buy More badge between the fingers of his other hand, watching him intently. “I need you to listen to me carefully. When I ask you a question, you’re going to give me an answer. I promise this will go easy for you. Do you trust me, kid?” The man bent down, mouth close to his face. The smell of the musky soap he used, mixed with an odor of food on this breath, made Chuck try to turn his head away.

Trust him? he thought sarcastically. Chuck shifted his eyes and put on the most stubborn expression he could muster. 

The Butcher let out a deep breath. He was losing patience with this little game his captive was playing. He yanked Chuck’s head backwards in a sudden motion, forcing the young man to look him in the face. Chuck winced but clamped his jaw tight. He could feel the man’s hot breath on his cheek.

“I want you to tell me about John Casey,” the Butcher said.

Hearing Casey’s name, Chuck’s eyed widened, just imperceptibly, but it was enough for Colletti to notice.

“Ah, I see you do know him,” the Butcher smirked. Chuck silently cursed himself for being such an open book. His face wasn’t cut out for spy work, he thought. His face had more moving parts than every posable limb of Morgan’s action figure collection, combined. Colletti tightened his grip in his hair, jerking his head back even further. Chuck winced again, and let out a sharp gasp. “Agent Casey and I go way back - old friends. Maybe he told you about me. Told you I was in town?” His face was now merely inches away, forcing Chuck to look him in the eyes. The man lowered his voice. “You’re very close to him. I’m sure he told you my name – and what they call me?”

Chuck didn’t have to wait for the man to introduce himself; the flash he had told him everything about ‘the Butcher’. The young man’s stomach twisted at the gory images he had seen. 

Tightening his grip one last time as a warning, Colletti finally loosened his hold on Chuck’s hair and glanced back at his partner. The man was leaning against the cement block wall, taking slow drags from a cigarette, Chuck noticed, but the Intersect had no information on him.

“Let’s get Agent Casey online,” Colletti said.

Flicking the cigarette butt to the floor, his partner rubbed it out with his boot and then approached the laptop that was on the table, powering it up. 

The Butcher turned his attention back to Chuck and studied his face – as if he was looking for something, and that deepened Chuck’s sinking feeling. 

“I have to admit, John Casey is a man that surprised me. I never thought he would make such a tactical error – let his feelings control him.” The man had a raunchy smile pasted on this face, and his hand slid to Chuck’s knee, giving it a slight squeeze. “You must make him very happy.”

Oh God. Chuck tried to not heave a breath; his head was pounding. Oh no no no…He knows. He knows everything. About us.

The man leaned in closer, his lips almost touching wisps of Chuck’s hair. “I bet you make him feel good. Is that true?” the Butcher said in a low voice.

Chuck swallowed hard. Colletti was making him feel dirty, making Chuck’s chest constrict. He could feel a rising panic. The nerd knew this was a bad decision, what he was about to do. He would pay the price, but he needed to stop the awful words, the tormenting.

“Go to hell,” he said flatly.

His brain barely registered the fist as he saw it coming at his face. But with his hands still secured behind his back, he couldn’t stop it, or move out of the way. He braced himself, and the punch connected with his mouth and cheek bone. It sent him sprawling off of the cot, and onto the concrete floor. With the cold cement on the side of his head, he saw white specks of light and felt a sharp stab of pain. A small trickle of blood oozed from the side of his mouth and pooled on the floor.

Casey would be pissed at him if he knew Chuck said something so reckless. He vaguely remembered Casey teaching him what he needed to do if he ever found himself captive. ‘Let them think you are already broken – afraid – or they will break you.’ Maybe he should have listened to Casey, he thought, his cheek stinging with pain.

Chuck shook his head, and tried to focus on the face now staring down at him. 

“See?” Colletti then looked up at his partner. “I knew he could talk.”

Colletti leaned down, grabbed Chuck by the forearms in an iron grip, and pulled him back on the cot. He looked at the small trail of blood from Chuck’s mouth and the splotch of bright red bruising already forming on his cheek. 

Blinking his eyes, Chuck saw the fuzzy flecks of light slowly dissolve. He tilted his head up, glowering at the man, but kept his mouth shut this time.

“Good.” Colletti said, squinting at him. “We’re ready for the video feed – call the agent.”

-x -

He hated waiting. He felt so damned helpless. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. John Casey was used to being in control of every situation. Casey wasn’t a ‘wait by the sidelines’ type of person; Casey was a man of action. And being in the apartment while Chuck was out there – somewhere – in the hands of a maniac was making him edgy and wanting to shoot something. 

Casey stood by the counter top, pouring what had to be his eighth cup of coffee in the past few hours, when his phone began to chirp. When ‘Unknown caller’ appeared on the caller ID, he moved over to the laptop. This was it – the call he was waiting for. Ready to die tonight, Colletti? he thought, before picking up.

“What?” he answered, his voice even.

“I’m sending you another code and password. You know the drill by now, right, Agent?” The call ended as quickly as it had started.

Casey’s stomach was pitching at the thought of what he would see, his mind still swirling with the images from his previous chat with the Butcher - Chuck knocked out on the cot, and that bastard’s hands touching him. When the video chat started, he almost couldn’t hide his relief at seeing Chuck. Alive, he added to himself. The kid was awake this time, and sitting up on the cot, while Colletti leaned back in a chair next to him.

Casey quickly scanned the video image to determine if Chuck was okay. He looked like he had been pushed around, intimidated. That was expected, Casey thought. He had seen that look before – it was on the face of every nameless hostage he had dealt with in his career. 

But, this was different. This was personal. He noticed that there was bruising and dried blood on Chuck’s face, and he vowed that when he killed Colletti, the Butcher would feel pain unlike any he had felt before. He could see the kid was doing his best to look brave, but there was veiled fear in his eyes. Watching the video feed intently, the big man’s eyes locked with Chuck’s.

“Casey, I’m fi - ahhhhh!”

Colletti’s hand had darted out, and grabbed the side of Chuck’s neck, twisting a patch of skin. Chuck cringed and cranked his shoulder up, trying to stop that hand from squeezing harder.

“Let’s save it for the reunion, shall we? 

Casey gritted his teeth together and gave the dark haired man a cold stare. 

“This is really just a simple transaction, Agent Casey. I have something of yours, and the NSA has something of mine. Your agency intercepted my shipment. I want it back.”

Criminals are predictable – it’s always a game to them, a trade-off, Casey thought. Casey had sworn that he would never barter with a criminal, that he would rather die than do something that would jeopardize his honor or his country. 

But that was before the kid had barreled head long into his life, and made everything he knew and believe in topple over in a landslide – a release of force and power that had changed him for good.

This was Chuck’s life on the line, and Casey knew what he had to – he would have to make the deal.

“Why didn’t you just use Meyers? You knew he could be bought.” Casey spat out the name of the NSA double who was already in bed with the Butcher – the one who had helped fake his death. It sickened him that one of their own would betray the agency, give up his country, in order to line his pockets with blood money.

“Because the shipment is only part of the deal. My other goal is to make you betray your country – to make you sell your soul by helping me tonight.” 

Casey stared blankly at the man. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how pissed off he felt. Being forced to commit treason was one thing, but he also knew the Butcher was lying through his yellow teeth - there was no way he planned to let either of them live once he had what he wanted. This wasn’t a game; it wasn’t a Goddamn poker match. Casey had taken some bets in his life – lost some, won a few more. But he wouldn’t gamble with Chuck’s life. The bastard had pulled a bluff. Now, Casey was forced to play along.

The Butcher smiled. “I’m your new partner, Agent Casey. I need your access and skill set to break into an NSA holding facility - a warehouse- tonight. I’ll send you instructions at 0100.” He paused, looking from the camera, then back at Chuck. He reached up and touched Chuck’s face with the back of his knuckles, rubbing them back and forth. Chuck recoiled at the man’s touch and tried to pull back, but Colletti grabbed his chin, holding him in place. Chuck was repulsed by the man’s touch, but more sickened by what he was attempting to do to Casey.

“Casey, don’t –” Chuck started, but a hand was clamped over his mouth forcefully, before he could go further. Casey could see the kid’s eyes open wide and his face turning red.

“Now, I don’t have to tell you to come alone, correct, Agent? I wouldn’t want to have any more damage done to this face. You do remember how I earned my name?” He smirked and ended the transmission before Casey could reply. 

-x-

The sound of the steel door swinging open caused Chuck to jump, and his eyes to pop open. From his position on the reeking cot, the nerd could see the scuffed pair of boots before he could actually see the face of one of his captors. Carlo approached Chuck and easily rolled him onto his stomach and grabbed his wrists. Chuck felt panicked by the movement, but to his surprise, he heard the sound of a sharp object cutting through the bands, and then, moving down to his feet, freeing his limbs. Chuck let out a low groan and sat up slowly on the cot and wiggled his arms and legs. While he massaged his wrists, he watched the other man drop a white bag and plastic cup on the table. 

“Eat.” He didn’t look at Chuck, but grabbed the laptop and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Chuck stood on shaky legs and walked to the door, but there was no handle from the inside of the room. 

He walked past the table and looked into the small room that was attached – he had noticed the other door slightly ajar, but it had done him no good when he was bound on the cot. 

Disgusting, he thought. There was only a toilet and tiny sink, with dark rust stains and grime splotched on the porcelain surfaces. The room was no more than four feet wide. Chuck didn’t know how long he had been captive, but his bladder was sending the message he couldn’t ignore, no matter how filthy the bathroom was. He relieved himself, and then stood in front of the sink and splashed cold water onto his face to remove the dried blood. He dried his face using his shirt, and went back to the table to examine the contents of the bag.

Tacos and refried beans. These look like they’ve been run over by the Taco truck a few times, he thought, when he saw the soggy, cold bag. But, his stomach protested with a growl. He was famished and sat down at the table to devour the meal quickly. The drink wasn’t cold, but the liquid soothed his throat. 

After finishing off the tacos, he wadded up the bag, and left it on the table. Chuck walked around the room in a circle, first examining the door again – yep, still locked – and then ran his hands along the walls. He sighed. Chuck, you are an idiot. There are no secret passages in a weapons dealer’s holding cell.

He sat on the cot and looked at the splotched cement floor, studying the patterns of chips and holes. The floor….the edges of his vision started to blur and waver, like he was looking through a tunnel… or a kaleidoscope. The floor was slowly swirling – as if a mop was making round motions, pooling and puddling the concrete.

What’s wrong with me? He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus on the floor, the walls, anything. Okay, I am just tired. What time is it? But the thought of time passing made him think of a clock with legs…

His eyes landed on the empty cup still sitting on the table. Oh God, the drink, he thought. It…had something…why can’t I...?

Now his brain was slipping a gear; it couldn’t land on what he was thinking – he could see churning objects, but not formulate thoughts. 

The door to the cell swung open. The men carried a container.

What is it? Something…they’re holding something…a box…a crate, he finally told himself. 

Approaching the cot, Colletti peered down at him, studying his face. Chuck eyes grew wide as he tried to focus on the man. 

“How do you feel, Mr. Bartowski?” 

Chuck looked up at the man and blinked, shaking his head.

…He was talking to him…there were words…

“Wh…What?” His tongue was heavy, thick.

Colletti looked at his partner and grinned. “He’s ready. Bring it over here.”

The other man carefully set the crate down on the floor next to the cot.

Chuck looked down into the crate – partly because he wanted to see what it contained, and partly because he couldn’t lift his head anymore. 

“Let’s get started. And be careful with that shit. It’s live.” Colletti glared at the other man. “Take his shirt off.”

Chuck’s head tilted, his line of sight fastened on the crate. He had a last conscience act – he flashed.

TBC


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a man from Casey’s past slips into town, he targets Casey by exploiting his weakness.

Casey vs. Redemption

Chapter Five

Chuck could feel his head jostling slightly, occasionally lolling side to side. He became aware of a steady humming noise. At first, he thought the droning sound was inside his head, like a wasp trapped in a jar. But then it came to him: the rhythm, the movement - it was familiar. He was in a car. 

His mind was swamped with a murky image from the past. He and Ellie were children, curled around rumpled blankets in the back seat of a car. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the front seat – mom and dad. The family, when they could be called that, would take day trips up to Saddleback Butte. His mother liked to get them out of the city, tramping down trails to identify local wild flowers; to find things they had already lost.

The edges of the image started to come into focus, but then they vanished. This was different. His gut was doing flips, and his chest was tight – there was something constricting him and pushing the air out of his lungs. He gasped to fill them and turned his head to the side.

Crap. It wasn’t Peaches last time when he woke up, and it sure as hell was not mom or dad or Ellie this time. The cinder block walls, the cot, the men– it came back to him in chunks but with pieces missing. He wasn’t back in that cell anymore though. The air was different now; they were moving, and there was a slight rocking and swaying as the SUV clipped down the road.

Chuck let out a low groan, and barely opened his eyes to small slits, thinking the men whose low voices reverberated from the front would not notice he was awake.

He was lying in the cargo space of an SUV, staring up at the ceiling. The windows were darkened but he could see street lights whizzing by. Well, things are looking up, he thought sarcastically. Maybe they had taken pity on him, because now his hands were secured in front of him instead of behind his back. 

That thought was interrupted by a pock marked, greasy face that popped out from the seat in front of him, looking down where Chuck was laying. “’Bout time you’re awake. We’re almost there. No one wanted to carry your dead ass any more than we had to.”

Chuck didn’t think it would be a good idea to point out that it was their fault they needed to carry his ‘dead ass’ in the first place.

Hired thugs don’t like to be bothered with things like logic or mundane details.

-x-

Casey could see the dark blue SUV rolling to a stop about thirty feet away from where he leaned against the door of the Crown Vic. Dressed in black pants, a black polo, and his SIG Sauer tucked in his waist band, his eyes flashed with hatred, staring at the vehicle. The doors opened and three men slid out and walked to the front of the SUV. 

The facility Colletti had designated to meet looked like nothing more than a warehouse surrounded by a chain link fence. However, it was actually a well-secured building that the NSA used as a storage complex for contraband and black-market goods. 

Casey scrutinized Colletti but said nothing as the Butcher approached him. The scumbag knew damn well what he was waiting for, and Casey wasn’t going to waste his time or his words until he saw what he wanted.

“You took care of the security measures?” Colletti asked.

Stupid ass question. Still leaning on the front of the car, arms crossed, Casey stared at the man with a blank expression.

Colletti squinted at the agent, recognizing the power play. He shrugged towards one of the goons, who walked to the back hatch of the SUV and opened it. Casey saw the man reach in and pull the kid out by the arm. Shoving him hard from behind, the man caused Chuck to stumble but he caught himself from falling to the pavement. Casey appraised him; besides the bruise on his cheek and his hands zip tied and secured in front of him, Chuck looked unscathed.

Smiling, Colletti reached for Chuck and pulled him by the hair, making the nerd stand in front of him. Chuck winced at the strong tug in his curls, but refused to let out a yelp. 

“See? I’m a man of my word. You’ll have him back in one piece when we’re done.”

“Casey! Don’t -!”

Colletti frowned and in a lightening movement, slapped his hand over Chuck’s mouth. 

“Your boy doesn’t know when to keep his mouth closed,” the dark haired man sneered.

Casey kept his silence. Hell, he couldn’t argue with that.

Signaling to one of the goons, the Butcher watched as his accomplice pulled something out of his pocket – a strip of cloth. Holding both ends, he stretched it over Chuck’s mouth, and jerking his head back, tied it tightly.

Casey growled in his throat, taking mental notes of how much pain Colletti would feel – for each bruise, each shove, and each indiscretion.

“Let’s get this over with,” Casey grunted, biting back his anger.

“One last thing you need to know…” the Butcher said, watching for his reaction.

The tone, the way he said it; Casey felt his heart rate speed up. His agent senses were on high alert. There’s more to this…I’m missing something.

Colletti stood in front of Chuck and grabbed the front of his shirt, and with a forceful motion, he ripped it open. Surprised by the sudden move, Chuck let out a muffled squawk that time.

Oh shit.

Duct tape and plastic: it was cobbled together, but it was the real deal. C4 explosives in elegant pipes, tied together, and strapped across Chuck’s chest. 

Chuck looked up at Casey. The kid was heaving breaths and standing on shaky legs.

But that wasn’t what held Casey’s attention. It was the numbers in the LED indicator, which was methodically counting down. 

9:48, 9:47, 9:46…

“You can see, I’m in a time crunch here, and I want this to be a - what do you agents call it? Oh, yes, an ‘in-and-out’ job. So, this is my insurance policy that you hold up your part of the bargain. I get the delivery,” the Butcher held up a small fob in his hand – the detonator, “And you can have this. Oh, and this.” He pushed Chuck ahead of him, towards the security door. “If I press this button, it overrides the countdown trigger, and your boy is cinders. I know you have a weapon on you. I’d keep it right where it is.”

“This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Do you really want to stand here and argue with me?” he smirked, with his thumb hovering over the detonator.

Glaring at the man, but not for too long – the seconds were ticking down – he approached the door and activated the retinal scanning device. The door slid open and Casey entered first, followed by the others. Colletti kept a firm grip on Chuck’s bicep, dragging him along, while the other hand held the detonator.

The Butcher’s eyes grew wide at the possibilities when they entered the facility. The large room they entered was crowded with rows of crates, shipping containers, and boxes setting on wooden pallets. It was an NSA treasure trove of terrorist’s weapons.

The goons looked at each other, and then quickly dispersed, searching for their objective.

“This way,” Colletti said, pushing Chuck ahead of him, and pointing for Casey to follow.

6:39, 6:38, 6:37…

“I hope you know what the hell you’re looking for. We don’t have time for you to do your hired goon Christmas shopping,” Casey sneered at the man.

The Butcher chuckled and continued down one aisle, pulling the nerd by the arm. Chuck let out a frustrated moan. The big man discretely recognized that the Intersect had gone into overdrive at the sight of the containers, and Chuck was being hit by flashes, thick and fast. Colletti didn’t notice – he was too pre-occupied with his treasure hunt. The dark haired man’s eyes swept up and down, side to side. The Butcher was intent; his eyes were black, pupils shot.

The NSA agent could hear the goons several rows over. They were pushing and shoving boxes, emptying crates, with the contents clattering on to the cement floor.

3:47, 3:46, 3:45…

“What’re you going to do if it’s not here? Blow the place? All of us?” Casey demanded. 

“It’s here…I know it’s here.”

Colletti quickened his pace, forcing Chuck to keep up with him. Casey was still just a step behind. The agent’s mind raced, looking for the exit strategy, Plan B,…a contingency. 

Fuck! He had to get Chuck out of here now.

1:15, 1:14, 1:13…

“There. That’s it.” Colletti had stopped, and kneeled next to a small wooden crate, with wide pine slats and black lettering stamped on the side.

“Open it,” Colletti directed, his fingers still digging into Chuck’s arm.

With no time to argue, Casey gripped one of the slats and tore it off with a brittle snap. He continued, moving quickly until the hole was large enough to inspect the contents. He peered inside, but the Butcher pushed him out of the way.

“Ah, ah. That’s mine. Now we do the swap.” He pushed Chuck away from both of them, and the young man landed with a hard thump on top of one of the crates. 

“You take the detonator. You still have time to disable the trigger – an agent like you? Thirty-five seconds should be enough time to figure it out, don’t you think?” He tossed the trigger to the floor, away from Casey, forcing him to make a grab for it.

“I will take this and leave now. I can show myself out, since I think you have something else to attend to at the moment.”

Lifting the compact crate, Colletti grinned at both of them, and fled down the row of containers, disappearing around a corner.

:29, :28, :27…

Racing to Chuck, Casey bent down and yanked his shirt wide open, desperately scanning the explosive device. He grabbed a cluster of wires and began thumbing through them, sorting the color-coded wires.

“Aauuggghhh!” It was muffled. Chuck’s mouth was still covered by the gag and his eyebrows shot up, eyes wide.

“Not now, Chuck, just the hell shut up,” Casey gritting through his teeth.

:20, :21, :22…

“AauuggghhhHHHH!” Chuck lashed out with his foot, catching Casey on the shin.

“What the…stop! Green wire…where’s the green wire?!” he muttered furiously. Casey was vaguely aware of Chuck struggling now, trying to use his secured hands to knock Casey’s hands out of the way. “Dammit!” Casey took a precious second to reach up and yank the strip of cloth off of Chuck’s mouth.

“Don’t, Casey! No, no, no! Listen to me!”

:12, :11, :10…

“Casey, it’s a trap. Don’t do it.” Chuck blurted out in a quick breath.

“Chuck, this is not a game…this is live...if I don’t, we -”

“Casey. Trust me.”

He stared into Chuck’s wide eyes. His fingers stilled.

:05, :04, :03…

…

And, like a complete idiot, he did the stupidest thing he could possibly do at that exact moment.

Hey, we’re both gonna die anyway.

He kissed him. Hard. 

A large hand on the back of Chuck’s head pulled him close. The nerd was startled at first, but in a click his brain caught up, and he clutched Casey’s shoulder in a tight grip. Their lips clashed, it was possessive; Casey’s tongue demanding immediate entry, causing Chuck to clench a gasp. It wasn’t tender. It was hungry, craving: mouths open just slightly, tasting fear, some regret, and a jumble of raw musk and sweetness. Chuck bit down just hard enough on Casey’s bottom lip and swept his tongue over it.

The trigger whirred to a stop. Then, it was silent.

Slowly, Casey slid his palm along the younger man’s jaw. Their mouth’s parted, and they both breathed in, filling their lungs, regarding each other with wide eyes.

Chuck answered the question before Casey could speak.

“I flashed.” He looked down at the floor as if trying to get his bearings, and then glanced up at Casey, who was still staring at him with a bewildered look.

“I flashed…on a crate when they brought it in, before I was knocked out…the triggers…the detonators.” Gasping, Chuck took in another deep breath, and Casey knew that look. He waited for the babble to start. 

“It’s one of Colletti’s ops. He uses them to trip up his enemies. These,” he indicated, looking down at the trigger device still strapped across his chest, “they’re a land mine; a red herring. They’ll sell them on the black market – Fulcrum, Scorpio – it doesn’t matter. They want them to get into their enemy’s hands. But, the detonators are a trap…” Chuck paused, staring up at Casey’s face. “If the bombs are triggered by the timer, they’re neutralized and the enemy is vulnerable -”

“ - and if you try to disable them , or alter them in some way, they activate the explosives.” Casey finished the sentence. “So, if I had cut the wire…”

Chuck’s voice cracked at the thought. “There wouldn’t be enough pieces of us to find.” He gulped a huge breath again, and then the big man could see the kid’s gears grinding. Jumping up from the crate, he had a panicked look in his eyes. “Oh God. But that’s not what he wanted – that’s just a game to him. And a way to make sure we never made it out of here tonight. But, it’s the sarin. Casey, you have to get that crate back! Right now.”

“Sarin? What th - ”

“Remember? Trust me!” Chuck made a frantic poke towards his forehead.

Casey looked in the direction Colletti had run, then back down at Chuck. He pulled out a pocket knife, and began cutting through the zip tie that held his wrists. He cut through duct tape and removed the explosives, carefully setting them on a nearby pallet. Putting his hands on the nerd’s shoulder, he shook him lightly.

“Look at me. You do what I say. You go to the southeast entrance, away from where the SUV is, and you stay there." His eyes burned, boring into Chuck’s. “If I see your ass heading in any other direction, it’s mine. Got it?”

Chuck didn’t argue for once. He stood up and turned towards one of the aisles, but Casey reached out and grabbed his shoulder. 

“The other south east entrance, Bartowski. Move it.”

The kid glanced back at Casey with a sheepish smile. “Uh, I’m a little turned around here, you know.” But he took off, sprinting in the direction Casey had pointed.

-x-

Good thing Chuck wasn’t here to see that - kid’s still a bit squeamish, Casey thought, examining the two bodies sprawled on the pavement. 

The big man had quietly pushed open the outer security door of the warehouse and scanned the parking lot, when he heard intense voices. At his nine o’clock, twenty yards out, Colletti’s goons were in a heated argument over the contents of a crate. 

He shook his head. Morons. 

Almost too simple after that - two clean head shots. Didn’t even hear the NSA agent approach. Methodically and without emotion, he had leveled one hand with the other, and took the shots. 

Casey didn’t believe in long goodbyes.

Crouching, he shoved the weapon back into his pants, and darted off along one wall towards the entrance where they had parked the vehicles. He had an old friend to catch up with.

-x-

The Butcher was getting impatient. Where the hell was Carlo and the other thug? They needed to get out of here, now that the package had been retrieved. Colletti lifted the back hatch of the SUV and set the crate in the back, carefully pushing it as far back as possible. He was seething. Somehow, the geek and the agent had prevented the explosion; the time had elapsed by now, and the only sounds he heard were the hum from the street lamps.

Then, two distinct cracks cut through the night air. That could only mean one thing, Colletti thought to himself. This just became a one man operation. No sense wasting any more time waiting for the other two. 

He took one last look at the darkened facility, pulling his jacket close, and scooped the keys from his pocket. As he reached the SUV’s door, the silence was broken by a click, and the sound of a bullet entering the chamber. With his hand still in his pocket, Colletti pulled out a gun in one swift motion, pointing it directly at the man emerging from the shadows of the building. 

Stepping into the pool of light cast from the parking lot flood lights, Colletti could see the man pointing a gun directly at him.

“Agent,” his voice nearly dripped with the venom he felt towards him.

“Colletti.” The reply was flat; businesslike.

Neither man wavered; neither backed down or expected the other would. Their weapons were pointed at each other, and they moved closer, in a tighter circle. 

“I kept my part of the bargain; you got your boy back in one piece. I’m taking my package.” Colletti shuffled closer to the driver’s side door, never taking his eyes off of Casey. “Though, it’s a shame I didn’t get to personally show him how I earned my name.”

Casey knew when he was being baited, taunted. And he wasn’t dealing this time. “You’re not taking the crate. Drop the gun. You might make it out of this without a body bag.”

The Butcher sneered at him. “Just like the movies, right, Agent? A stand-off? Let’s see who blinks first. Do you want to risk it?”

Then, a voice came from the shadows. “Uh, Casey?” 

Casey couldn’t afford to turn his head away from his target. “God dammit, Chuck, that voice I hear had better be one of those 3D holograms from one of your geek movies, and not actually be you.” 

He heard feet shuffling forward and when Chuck spoke, there was fear in his tone, tinged with nervous amusement. “Did you just make a sci-fi reference, Casey?”

In a heartbeat, the Butcher whirled his arm to point his gun at the nerd, standing near the Vic…

...and was startled to see a gun pointed at him. It barely quivered in Chuck’s hand. 

“Where did you get that?” Casey asked, between his teeth.

“You left it on one of the other guys back there…you know what? I don’t even want to think about that right now. I’m going to have night terrors for weeks, big guy.”

Yep. Squeamish, Casey shrugged.

“Besides,” Chuck continued, “I thought I could help.”

“You can.” Colletti jeered. “I seem to be short a driver right now.” Then, he turned to Casey, his voice even. “I will kill him if you don’t drop the gun, Agent.” He gestured to Chuck to walk towards him. “Come here. Now.”

“Chuck, don’t you move,” Casey threatened, knowing that there would be nothing good that could come out of this if the Butcher was allowed to leave with the kid.

Colletti’s mocked him. “Well, the odds seem to be in your favor. I hope your boy is a good shot. Is he going to shoot me, Agent? Will he make the shot?”

Truthfully? Casey thought. Only if blue monkeys fly out of our asses right now…but he wouldn’t let that bastard know that. “The kid’s not a fighter but he has a dead aim. You can’t win. Lower the weapon.”

Colletti examined both men; the air was heavy with hostility, hatred. Then he slowly took a step back, relaxed his wrist, and pointed the gun down.

“You are the victor in this battle. Just take me in. Any of your secure facilities will do,” he grinned. Casey understood the unspoken threat. 

His gun remained leveled at the man. 

“What are you waiting for?” Colletti’s voice challenged him. “I know…you’ve changed. You’ve gone soft.” He turned to Chuck and his eyes swept up and down his body. “Weak. I’m ready, Agent. You won’t shoot me.”

“First mistake: It’s Major, you asshole.” Casey’s voice was terse. “And maybe I have changed.”

Piercing blue eyes bore through the man. Casey held the firearm steady with one finger bent on the trigger, the weapon pointing at the Butcher. Chuck started, almost ducking, when he saw the flash from the barrel and heard the deafening shot that severed the night air.

The bullet pierced Colletti’s heart; he was dead before his body had slumped to the pavement in a bloody heap.

“But,” the Major paused, “I win.”

-x-

“You’re awake?”

“Uh, I couldn’t sleep.” 

Casey leaned against the doorframe of their bedroom and looked down at Chuck, who was stretched out in the bed. Wearing a white t-shirt and blue plaid boxers, his slim, long legs stuck out from under the tousled sheets, which had obviously been kicked and rolled up in a ball. He was propped against the pillows, and watched Casey with puzzled eyes. The bruise on his cheek had turned dark purple. It had to hurt like hell.

Casey studied him. Then, the big man pushed himself off of the doorway, but instead of moving to sit on the bed, as Chuck thought he might, he walked down the hall to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator and taking out the supplies, he assembled a sandwich: pastrami and provolone on whole wheat with just a light spread of mustard – the way Chuck liked it. 

He wasn’t ready to talk about this yet - hell, he may never be. What a cluster fuck this entire op was, he thought.

The big man chopped a tomato, and then got a glass of water, while replaying in his mind the events after Colletti’s death. By the time the NSA clean-up crew had finished bagging the bodies and processing the inventory, the sun was beginning to creep over the low slung warehouse, casting long shadows across the weed filled parking lot. Casey needed to get the hell away from there, and hustled the kid into the Vic when the team was packing up. The young man had stared out the car window, with that glazed look, not really seeing anything. Every now and then, Casey could feel Chuck shift his gaze to him, but the agent kept his eyes straight ahead on the road. Casey needed this silence; he wasn’t ready to ride the tidal wave of piercing questions and shattering rush of guilt.

Back at the apartment, while Chuck had slept, Casey got his ass torn in half by the General for ‘withholding Intel on a suicide mission and risking the Intersect’. That Bitch. Everything he did was to protect the Intersect.

Casey put the sandwich supplies away, and made his way to their room. “Here.” Casey set the plate on Chuck’s lap, and placed the glass of water on the night stand.

“Casey, I -”

“Chuck. Just eat first.” Casey rubbed his hands through his hair, and sat at the foot of the bed.

Chuck frowned but took the sandwich. The kid was looking even leaner than his usual self, and Casey watched him devour the food and then take a drink. 

“Take these.” The pills looked tiny in that enormous palm.

“What are they?”

“Just take them.” Chuck scooped the pills out of his hand, and took a drink of the water to chase them down. Then, he peered up at Casey, his brows scrunched and his eyes filled with a confused stare.

“Are we going to talk? I know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, buddy, but I think we sho -”

Casey glanced down at him before walking out of the room. “Go to sleep, okay.” It wasn’t really a question. Chuck figured that out a few minutes later when he couldn’t focus on the TV sitting on the dresser. His lids became heavy, and as one last fleeting thought, he realized at least one of those tiny pills was definitely not a pain med.

Peering through the doorway a few minutes later, Casey saw Chuck was sound asleep already, the plate leaning against his thigh, his face serene. The big man ran his thumb gently across Chuck’s forehead, brushed a few curls behind his ear, and left the bedroom.

After taking a hot shower, Casey stood in the bathroom, and slowly wiped the steamed mirror with his hand until a small clear circle revealed his face. He wasn’t sure he recognized that man staring back at him. 

He had fucked up. 

And it almost cost Chuck his life. He should have seen through Colletti’s trap; he should have detected that Myers had lied to him during the de-briefing. The Butcher was right – he did have a weakness. This was his fault. He would get them both killed someday.

-x-

When Casey woke in the night, he was at first startled to see a pair of dark eyes, wide and gazing directly into his. Chuck had scooted close, and his head was resting on the same pillow as Casey’s head.

“Is it your plan to keep me in a cryogenic state so that you don’t have to talk to me about this?”

Casey groaned, and closed his eyes. What time was it? he wondered. He let out a sigh and ran his hand over his face. “Is that another nerd reference?”

“Very good, Major. You’re catching on.” He could make out the slight smile even in the dark. 

“How long have you been awake?”

“Well, considering I slept all day, its 3:43, but I’m wide awake now.”

Here it comes…the talking part, Casey thought. He sure as hell didn’t want to have to deal with this at 3:43 in the morning. Or ever. 

Feeling the mattress shift, Casey saw the kid push the blankets down, and felt a long arm tugging across his chest. Chuck started to roll on top of him, but Casey was having none of it. The kid would lay there and pester him until dawn if he let him. In one quick motion, he swooped out a leg, wrapped it around Chuck’s knees, and rolled on top of the smaller man.

Squirming, Chuck tried to push him off, but Casey made a grab for the nerd’s wrists, and held his hands in place beside his head. Their faces were almost touching, warm breath on each other’s cheeks.

Chuck could hear a low rumble above him. “I almost got you killed.”

“What? Are you nuts? You saved me! That maniac was going to blow us to bits! You trusted me. Don’t you see that?” 

“I let it happen in the first place.”

“Casey, you’re not a machine, you’re human – people are going to deceive you, let you down. But, you were able to fix it.” Chuck’s face was turning darker; he attempted to buck Casey off, tried to break his hands free. 

Casey pressed just a little more, letting all of his weight hold the slim man in place. He wasn’t ready to move yet. The big man felt like he had given up too much control. He let out an exasperated grunt. “What do you want from me?” 

“You’re blaming yourself – I want you to see yourself for what you are.” Even in the dark blanket of night, Casey could see the kid tilting his chin, looking up at him with eyes were that were intense, sparking. He intensified his struggles and then let out a frustrated growl. “Dammit, Casey, let me go,” he hissed.

With one last glance down, Casey rolled off of him and on to his back. Chuck pushed himself up with his elbows, and then rolled until he was on top, maneuvering himself into the same position Casey had just vacated. They were lined up from chest, to pelvis, and then down long, slender legs.

But the kid didn’t move. He just stared at him.

The younger man was watching him like a seventh grade science lab assignment, like he was a speck in a Petri dish. Casey had never had anyone peal his skin back with a look before, and examine him so closely. 

Chuck’s eyes could do that though. 

Casey could hear the whisper above him. “I’m not blaming you. If we’re going to be partners, you have to accept that risk. You have to accept all of this.” And, Casey didn’t need ‘all of this’ spelled out for him. Being with Chuck would mean not just accepting the man, but accepting who he would become because of Chuck: accepting his own humanity. 

Hovering over him, the kid’s face was serious, but very slowly, a sly smile started to form on his lips. He gazed down into cobalt eyes, and tentatively pressed himself against Casey’s thigh. A soft thrusting movement pressed back against him and he could feel a hardening, a swelling tension. Lowering his voice, he whispered. “You accept all of this, Casey.” Chuck wasn’t asking - he was telling. Then, Casey could almost hear the grin in Chuck’s voice. “And, I have to accept that you’re a big damn hero.” Chuck squeezed his wrists lightly, his eyes gleaming.

Casey looked up at the younger man and squinted slightly, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “You know I can get out of this, right?”

He was fooling himself though. He would never break from Chuck’s hold – he never wanted to.

“But you won’t.” Chuck said, echoing the same thought. He grinned devilishly, and lowered his mouth to the tender skin on Casey’s neck. His tongue teased, looping in tight, wet circles.

All of Casey’s sensation, touch, was centered there, under his mouth – nothing else existed. Chuck’s words rattled in his head. To see myself for what I am. His eyes opened to slits and he looked down at Chuck’s face. I only hope I can live up to how you see me. 

Relaxing into that movement, Casey smirked. That was something else that did for him; he liked it when Chuck was playful. “I don’t want to get out of this, huh?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Chuck’s mouth trailed down his neck, to his broad chest. Teasing the nub of his nipple, and then rubbing his cheek against the springy patch of hair between his pecks, Chuck went lower still. Casey felt his stomach muscles clench when those lips grazed across it, leaving a burning trail: soft and wet, a tickling on his abdomen, his hip. Swirling; tasting. Taking his time, Chuck lowered his head and dipped his mouth onto Casey’s hardness, tongue sweeping down the length, then up and lightly across the crown.

God if the kid could learn to use a fire arm the way he can use that tongue, he would be a sure shot, Casey thought, and let out a low growl.

“What are you thinking about?” Shit. The movement had stopped. The kid was watching him, staring up through thick lashes.

Casey tilted his chin to meet those eyes. “That you need to be doing something else with your mouth right now.”

A devilish grin looked good on Chuck, but Casey really was going to lose it. “Is that so?” the kid asked, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

The lips were replaced by a hand - slim, deft, fingers; a grip just almost tight enough, but not quite. And the kid knew it. 

God… Casey watched. The skin slid on that silky tight muscle: up, down, and a thumb rubbed over the crown, around the rim. There was a slight twist and a rhythmic motion. It was making Casey’s blood pound in his ears.

“Chuck…” His voice sounded heavy; half warning, but not begging…no, the Major did not beg.

“You know, I like it when you ask.” The hand kept moving.

“Do it.” 

The kid had the balls to still be looking at him with that grin, and damned if his tongue didn’t dart out and wet his bottom lip while Casey watched.

The smaller man chuckled. “We have to work on that whole ‘asking’ thing, buddy. Whenever you say it, it sounds more like a demand.” Chuck lowered his mouth, leaning in close, teasing, but not quite touching.

“Suck it.”

“Now see that time, I could almost hear the ‘please’…”

“If you don’t stop your bab - uuuuhhhhh. Yeah.”

-x-

They both lay on their backs, awake. One of Casey’s arms was under Chuck’s shoulders, pulling him close, the other draped over his chest and resting on his bicep, lightly brushing the skin. 

Casey heaved a sigh. His voice was low. “God, you are the most annoying moron…”

“You always know how to kill the moment, huh, big guy?” But he could feel the younger man let out a soft snicker against his chest. 

Casey stopped the brushing movement and glanced down at him. “You always know what I mean to say.”

Chuck accepted that this was Casey’s way of telling him something that he was afraid to say out loud. But Chuck heard it. He beamed a smile, and nearly bumped Casey in the chin when he tilted his head up to look at him. “Maybe that’s why this whole weird thing somehow fits together.”

Casey smirked. That reminded him of something. “Remember what I said, when we were in the warehouse? That your ass would be mine?”

“Uh, yeah…?”

“Did you think I would forget?”

“I was actually counting on you remembering…”

Casey pulled his arm out from under Chuck and leaned up on an elbow. “Well, numb nuts, I think it’s time to collect.” 

Chuck put on a look of fake annoyance. “Numb nuts? Don’t you thin-?” Casey found a way to stop him: the kid shut up. Chuck fisted the sheets, and his head landed with a thunk on the pillows. “Oh. Oh.” 

-x-

“Chuck?”

‘Course, the kid is sleeping during one of those ‘Chuck is wrong, Casey is right’ moments, Casey silently gloated, running his hand lightly down the kid’s back.

But then again, it was probably for the best Chuck was still sleeping. Just maybe, Casey wasn’t ready to admit why Chuck was wrong. Lying in the dark, and listening to the steady, even breaths, he could confess to himself.

The kid was wrong about Casey saving him.

The big man could feel the curly hair tickling his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest, the heat. And in that warmth, he knew the truth even if he couldn’t say it out loud; that it had been Chuck who had saved Casey all along.

-end-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers.
> 
> Casey vs. Redemption is the first book in a trilogy. I've now begun to publish Casey: vs. Human Elements here on A03, so if you enjoyed this, feel free to read on! :)
> 
> The final book (written, to be published here after Human Elements) is Casey vs. the Way Back.
> 
> -skye


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